would say to her husband or the doctor, who often recommended sea-air, “and to think of them running about on the grass when it is dry and sunny; for it is very close and airless sometimes here in Diamond Terrace in the long summer days. But do let me keep to dry land. It makes me quite nervous to think of Harry falling over the rocks or getting into boats, and Bobby and Frank getting their feet wet constantly on the shore when they are so subject to bronchitis.”
“Pooh, pooh, my dear!” her husband would say, “you are far too much afraid of these children getting into danger. It makes them little molly-coddles, indeed it does.” But he was an easy-going man, who let his wife do pretty much as she liked, and did not interfere with her management of house or children.
“Mamma,” said Harry one day, “how is
it that Uncle Jack never catches cold?—and, besides, he has never been drowned.”
“Hush, Harry; don’t talk so rashly. You don’t know what may happen to your uncle yet. And I do wish he wouldn’t tell you all those long stories about the sea when he comes; they make me quite miserable.”
“I like them awfully, mamma,” cried Harry, “and so does Walter. And do you know, mamma, Walter and I are both going to be sailors when we grow big. Only I do wish we might sail the Rover first in real sea-water; it would look so splendid!”
“Well, Harry, be a good boy,” said his mother, who did not like to disappoint her boy more than was for his good, “and don’t go on talking about being a sailor, for that you shall never be. Your papa and I will never hear of it. As to Walter, his father may do what he pleases; but you are going to help your father in the
warehouse when you grow big, so you don’t need to trouble your head about anything else. But, as I was saying, if you are a good boy till next holidays, I promise to take you all to Kingshaven, and you shall sail your ship as much as you like from the little jetty or the rocks. It is a nice safe place with lovely sands—if the sea ever can be said to be safe.”
Harry listened in silent amazement to these words. The utter crushing of his hopes as to sailor-life was for the moment completely forgotten in the near and enchanting prospect held out to him in its place. But he was a kind-hearted, affectionate boy, and even in this hour of excitement he did not forget his friend.
“But Walter, mamma?” he cried, as his mother was leaving the room,—“how can I sail it without Walter?”