At last Mr. Long started off, in company with Mr. Simmons, to hunt up Captain Corbet, or some other man who might go in his place. The boys stood about the wharf waiting impatiently for their return.
Mr. Long and his companion hurried to the village inn, and found out that Captain Corbet lived three miles away. So they borrowed a horse and wagon, and drove off as fast as possible to the house. Arriving there, they entered, and beheld a scene which so overpowered Mr. Long that for a time he could not speak.
For there in his kitchen, in a high-backed chair, in front of his own hearth-stone,—there sat the identical Captain Corbet for whom so many had been waiting so long. He held an infant in his manly arms, he was gently tilting his chair to and fro, and tenderly feeding his prattling innocent with a spoon. So intent was he upon his tender task, that he did not hear the entrance of his excited pursuers.
“Captain Corbet!”
The tone in which Mr. Long spoke cannot possibly be represented in print; or at any rate to do so would require more notes of admiration than are usually found in any common printing office. The tone will have to be imagined. Suffice it to say, that Captain Corbet dropped the spoon,—almost dropped the baby also,—and started to his feet as though he had been stirred up by a galvanic shock administered full on the ganglionic centres.
“Captain Corbet!” cried Mr. Long, furiously. “Didn’t you say you’d be on the wharf in good time, and that the Antelope would leave at this tide?”
“Why! it’s Mr. Long!” said Captain Corbet. “Why, Mr. Long! Glad to see you. Sit down. Why, you railly frightened me. Why, I’m railly pleased to see you. I am, railly.”