[CHAPTER VIII]
FOXY AND PHIL
THE "Stormy Petrel," as Jeremiah Jackson's vessel was called, remained nearly a week at Granville, discharging her cargo, and loading again with various goods for Southampton.
During these days Tad was in a miserably uncertain state of mind. At one time he would almost resolve to take the good skipper's advice, and go home to face bravely anything that might happen. At another, he shrank from the thought of returning, and felt as though he could far more easily brave any amount of unknown dangers, than go back to the home troubles that he knew so well.
On the afternoon of the day before the schooner was to sail, Tad was standing about on the wharf feeling very unhappy, and very uncertain as to what course to take. While he wandered listlessly round, he met a boy about twelve years of age, with a monkey in his arms. A small organ was strapped across the lad's shoulders, and when he turned the handle of the instrument, it ground out a horrible parody of a popular French tune, and the monkey, leaping from its bearer's arms, danced a queer kind of hornpipe on the top of the organ, tossing its little red cap in the air, and pretending to be in the best of good spirits. What a feeble pretence this was, however, even Tad could see, for the poor little beast had a face almost as pinched and woebegone as that of the organ boy, and that was saying a great deal.
As it happened, Tad was still mooning over the second half of his dinner, so much absorbed was he in perplexing thought. All on board the schooner had been too busy that day to have a proper dinner set out, and Tad had received his rations of bread and salt pork, and a substantial baked apple dumpling, and had been told to go on shore and eat it there. The bread and meat had been eaten, and the first hunger being appeased, Tad had once more fallen into a brown study, out of which he was roused only when the poor little organ lad and his monkey had come quite near, and were casting longing glances upon the dumpling which Tad held—only half folded in paper—in his hand.
The mute language of want is one which the eyes speak very plainly. At least this language is plain enough to those who have suffered from hunger, and Tad knew only too well what it was to be hungry. So when he saw the longing look in the eyes both of boy and beast, he promptly handed over his dumpling, and for a while forgot his own troubles in the delight with which his bounty was received.
The organ boy broke off a generous piece first for his little charge, then sitting down in a quiet corner of the wharf, he began to eat his own share, gratefully smiling and nodding his thanks to Tad, but not saying a word.
"The little chap's a Frenchman, for sure," said Tad to himself, "and can't speak no English, and he sees plain enough as how I ain't a countryman of his. That's why he don't try to talk to me. Still he may have learned a few words of English while he carried his organ round; I'll try him and see if he understands me."
"Look here," said Tad, laying a hand on the little lad's shoulder to arrest his attention, "are you a French boy, or what?"