“He’s the finest little chap I ever saw,” cried the admiral. “He wasn’t going to shoot, really; the thing went off by accident; he wants to give the orderly all his pocket money and takes the whole blame of this performance on himself. Look at this construction—tolerably ingenious this for a youngster.” The admiral groaned slightly as he said this.
The picks and shovels were fast leveling the fort, but the lines remained still. Young Brydell’s father could not forbear laughing.
“And you’ll give him a hauling over the coals,” said the admiral, “but I positively forbid any other punishment. The little lad has no mother, and we mustn’t forget that.”
“I never forget it,” answered Young Brydell’s father. “I do my best by the child—I keep him with me all I can—but as you say—he has no mother”— The ensign stopped.
“I know all about it,” said the admiral briskly, “so come along and we’ll try and frighten the youngster.”
Mr. Brydell smiled. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir,” he said, “but we can promise to take the rifle away, if he isn’t more careful.” This is about what the lecture amounted to after all.
When it was over, and Young Brydell was marching off holding on to his father’s hand, he called out to the orderly who was coming toward them from the dispensary:—
“I say, Grubb, how funny that piece of court plaster looks on your ear.”
Grubb touched his cap in response to the ensign’s salute and answered gravely:—
“It feels a deal funnier than it looks, sir.”