Ben shuffled one foot before the other uneasily.
"Ay, ay, but there's few as argify the way o' life in they lines!" he said, "There's a many that think—but there's a main few that speak."
"That is true," said Aubrey, still keeping his hand on Ben's shoulder, "there's a main few that speak! Now, I want to speak, Ben,—I want to have a talk to you and the rest of our mates about—well!—about the dangers of the sea and other things. Will you meet me on the shore this evening near the quay and listen to a word or two?"
Ben looked surprised but interested, and a puzzled smile came into his eyes.
"Be ye a goin' to preach to us like the passon?" he said, "Or like the fellers in the porter's caps as calls themselves Salvationists?"
Aubrey smiled.
"No! I only want to say a few parting words to you all."
"Parting words!" echoed Ben with a stupefied air.
"Yes—I am going away to-morrow—going for good. I have got some other work to do. But I shall not forget you all . . . and you will hear of me often,—yes, you will hear of me!—and some day I will come back. But to-night . . . I should just like to say good-bye."
Ben was secretly much distressed. "Gentleman Leigh" as he was sometimes called, had greatly endeared himself to their little community, and that he should leave them was not at all a desirable thing, and would, as Ben well knew, cause universal regret. But there was no time just now for either argument or protestation, so Ben accepted the blow as he accepted all buffetings of fate, and merely said,