Auntie used to make a pic-nic of these visits. Mrs Moore had the table-cloth laid with spotless linen and adorned with gay flowers, and Mummy Gray, as Mattie called her foster-mother, invariably brought a basket of such good things, that the very thoughts of them beforehand used to make my mouth water, and of course Jill’s as well.
“I’m really delighted, Mr Moore,” said Aunt Serapheema, on the quarter-deck one day, “to see the boys looking so well and happy. It was really an excellent thought of yours to have them here, and I have not the slightest doubt they will prove a credit to your tuition, and pass their examination with flying colours.”
“Bravo! Miss,” cried Tom Morley. “In my time, Miss, I’ve heard many’s the little speech on a quarter-deck, but I declare to you, on the honour of an old sailor, I never heard a neater than that.”
“To my mate Tom, here,” replied Mr Moore, “belongs the credit more than to me and my wife, of making the young gentlemen what you see them.”
Old Tom Morley scraped and bowed in the most orthodox fashion, and Mr Moore continued:
“He does keep them at it, Miss. Why, it’s drill, drill, drill, all day long, and the boys like it, too. Then he reads to them and tells them stories in the evening.”
“Good books, I hope?”
“Not bad ’uns, Miss, I can assure you. We’ve Dickens and Scott, and that lot, but what we’re doin’ principally at present is a thorough overhaul o’ Marryat. He is the chap, Miss, to give a man, or boy either, a right taste o’ the crust o’ the service.”
Dear Mattie was listening to all this while she stood close by me, with one wee arm round my wrist, all eyes and smiles.
“What a perfect picture those two little ones look!” said Mrs Moore. “You are very fond of your little sailor brothers, aren’t you, dear? Which do you like best?”