He stood by the window, looking from the old Manor House in which he lived to the road. Presently he saw Job Brice, who did odd jobs about the house and garden, walking across the grounds to the paddock. Job had been a seaman in the Navy at the same time as his father, and for that reason had been given employment, to add to his pension, at the Manor House; but he rarely spoke about his seafaring life to our hero. Paul suspected that this, in a large measure, was due to his mother, for whenever Job did speak, he always dwelt on the most unattractive side of a sailor's life.
So soon as Paul caught sight of Job, he seized his cap, and went after him. He came up with him just as he had entered the paddock.
"I say, Brice, I've just been talking to mother about father. I don't like to question her too much, for I can see it gives her pain."
"Quite right, Master Paul; it does give her pain," said Job, turning his scarred, weather-beaten face to the boy; "and it's very good of you to think of her. It ain't all boys who're so thoughtful of their mother."
"Oh, don't butter me, Brice, for I'm long chalks from deserving it. But perhaps you wouldn't mind answering me a question I could never quite make out. I've heard that father died in saving another man. And that is all I do know, for mother never speaks of it, and I can't keep boring her with questions. How did it happen?"
"Well, no one knows exactly. So far as could be made out, some pirate—some furrin sneak—got into his cabin while we were in port, and got at his private despatches. He was imprisoned in the hold by the captain's orders. The next day we were to make for Gibraltar, where the spy was to be tried by court-martial. The next night was a dirty one—no rain to speak of, but dark and blustery. While it was at its height, the prisoner in the hold managed to escape, and jumped overboard. Your father was one of the first to see him, and leapt after him. He reached the poor wretch and held him till the boat put out; then a fiercer gust of wind came, and they were separated. The spy was swept in the direction of the boat. Your father was swept away from it. The spy was caught up and dragged into it. Your father was never seen again. He'd saved the spy's life at the expense of his own. There wasn't a man on board the ship but esteemed—yes, loved your father. He was one of the best skippers that ever walked a deck. What we felt afterwards, Master Paul, can't be described. We felt just sick that he'd gone, and that that sneaking, shivering furrin rascal had been saved. Some of the boys would ha' lynched him, I think, only that he looked purty sick at that time hisself, and they knew a court-martial was awaitin' him at Gibraltar. Well, he were taken to Gib."
"And what happened?" asked the lad, as the old salt paused.
"What happened? Why, he got clean off!" cried the old salt indignantly. "There was little or no evidence agen him. The one who knew all about him, and what he'd been up to, was your father, and—and——"
Job Brice came to a dead stop as the back of his big, rough hand went across his eyes.
"My father had gone to the bottom! Yes, yes, I understand it all!" said Paul in a choking voice. "So they were obliged to release the man, and he got off scot-free?"