Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers."
Just then the singers became aware of their audience. Judkins stopped short in the midst of a "tow, row, row," and jumped as if he were shot, while Dolly ran and swung around her father's legs, and then turned her attention to Archy.
"I haven't been hungry since you came," she said, "and Judkins and I can sing a great deal louder and better when we aren't hungry—can't we, Judkins?"
"Yes, miss," replied Judkins, standing rigidly at "attention," and deeply embarrassed.
Archy begged them to continue, and Dolly quite readily, and Judkins blushing very much, evidently enduring agonies of sheepishness, yet obeyed orders, and gave "The Lincolnshire Poacher," "The Dashing White Sergeant," and other famous songs of the British army.
Nothing could exceed the kindness and sweetness of Mrs. Curtis towards Archy. In some way she at once divined that he was motherless, and his tenderness to Dolly showed that he had a good heart. As for Archy himself, in spite of his fondness for "seeing life" and his adventurous disposition, he felt all the sweetness and charm of domestic life, and was quite happy to be even a chance partaker in the home circle that was yet to be found in the rude shelter to which the Spanish cannonade had driven his new-found friends. He remained until it was time for Captain Curtis to return to his ship, and after a cordial invitation from Mrs. Curtis to visit them often, and an affectionate good-night from Dolly, Archy returned to his quarters at the hospital.
He lay awake that night, troubled by what Captain Curtis had told him; but in the morning his irrepressible spirits reasserted themselves, and he began to think that, after all, he might get away.
That day Langton was much better in health, but low in his mind over the departure of the fleet, and Archy very indiscreetly let out Captain Curtis's opinion as to the length of the siege.
"Then we shall lose Gibraltar, I am afraid," said Langton, sadly.
"What are you talking about?" cried Archy. "It takes a lot of beating to whip an Englishman—we know it to our sorrow. But, nevertheless, we will soon chase all of your beggarly redcoats out of America; then you can turn your whole attention to the Don Spaniards; and then—Lord help 'em! And you will be going back to England and be adopted by Lord Bellingham in lieu of me, while I shall be captain of a smart little frigate under the American colors, and I'll call and see you at Bellingham Castle. Oh, great guns, what fun I'll have! You ought to know your venerable grandfather, my boy; you'll often wish, when you are rolling in splendor at Bellingham, that you were at Gibraltar living on rice and salt fish. Uncle Baskerville is a trump—as fine an old chap as I know, if he would but leave off his sermons to me about returning to my allegiance to my king and country, and taking my place as the prospective heir and head of the Baskerville family. But our grandfather—oh, ye gods!"