"Oh! that's fine!" exclaimed Small Porges rapturously, "you shall be the captain, an' I'll be the shipmate, an' we'll say Aye Aye, to each other—like the real sailors do in books,—shall we?"
"Aye, aye Shipmate!" nodded Bellew again.
"Then please, Uncle Por—I mean Captain,—what shall we name our ship,—I mean the new name?"
"Well, my Porges,—I mean, of course, shipmate,—I rather thought of calling her—Hallo!—why here's the Sergeant."
Sure enough, there was Sergeant Appleby sitting under the shade of "King
Arthur"—but who rose, and stood at attention as they came up.
"Why Sergeant, how are you?" said Bellew, gripping the veteran's hand.
"You are half an hour before your usual time, to-day,—nothing wrong,
I hope?"
"Nothing wrong, Mr. Bellew, sir—I thank you. No, nothing wrong, but this—is a—memorable occasion, sir. May I trouble you to—step behind the tree with me—for half a moment, sir?"
Suiting the action to the word, the Sergeant led Bellew to the other side of the tree, and there, screened from view of the house, he, with a sudden, jerky movement, produced a very small leather case from his pocket, which he handed to Bellew.
"Not good enough—for such a woman—I know, but the best I could afford, sir!" said the Sergeant appearing profoundly interested in the leaves overhead, while Bellew opened the very small box.
"Why—it's very handsome, Sergeant!" said Bellew, making the jewels sparkle in the sun,—"anyone might be proud of such a ring."