"I don't know."
"Well,—all at once, while I stared up at it, the moon changed itself into a great, big face; but I didn't mind a bit, 'cause it was a very nice sort of face,—rather like a gnome's face, only without the beard, you know. An' while I looked at it, it talked to me, an' it told me a lot of things,—an' that's how I know that you are—going away, 'cause you are, you know,—aren't you?"
"Why, my Porges," said Bellew, fumbling with his pipe, "why Shipmate,
I—since you ask me—I am."
"Yes, I was 'fraid the moon was right," said Small Porges, and turned away. But Bellew had seen the stricken look in his eyes, therefore he took Small Porges in the circle of his big arm, and holding him thus, explained to him how that in this great world each of us must walk his appointed way, and that there must, and always will be, partings, but that also there must and always shall be, meetings:
"And so, my Porges, if we have to say 'Good-bye' now,—the sooner we shall meet again,—some day—somewhere."
But Small Porges only sighed, and shook his head in hopeless dejection.
"Does—she—know you're going,—I mean my Auntie Anthea?"
"Oh yes, she knows, Porges."
"Then I s'pose that's why she was crying so, in the night—"
"Crying?"