The time finally came, six weeks after Tom had started to pass the night under Rankin’s bridge, when Captain Harrison said:
“We won’t ‘dress down’ to-night, boys; but try to carry back fresh what we catch to-day.”
“What does he mean by that?” Tom asked of one of the crew.
“It means that we shall start for home after the fish are done biting to-day.”
Tom could hardly realize his good-fortune, and he worked in a dazed sort of way, but kept repeating to himself each moment: “I’m going home, I’m going home. And what’s better, I’ll stay when I get there.”
At an early hour that afternoon the bow of the old Swiftsure was turned toward Sedgwick, and as she rose and fell heavily on the waves, sending clouds of spray fore and aft, Tom could hardly refrain from giving vent to his joy by at least three hearty cheers.
The trip home was by no means as speedy as Tom could have desired. It seemed to him as if the old vessel was sailing more slowly than she had ever sailed before and as if the winds were really trying to delay him.
Then came the day when he could see the spire of the church in Sedgwick, and just at the time when he knew that his father and mother were sitting down to supper Tom leaped on shore. He waited for nothing, but ran home at full speed, and it was not until he had kissed his mother and father again and again and heard them assure him of their forgiveness that he could breathe freely.
As may be expected, Tom had not been home more than an hour before the friends to whom he had confided his purpose of running away called to see him and to learn how much of his fortune he had made.