"A letter frae my brother John!" cried Richard, starting from his seat; "open the door, laddie—open the door."
Now, Richard Rogers had a brother, who also had been considered a sort of a genius in his youth. He was of a wild and restless disposition in those days, and his acquaintances were wont to call him by the name of Jack the Rambler. But it is a long road that has no turning—he had now been many years at sea—was the captain of a free-trader—and as remarkable for his steadiness and worldly wisdom, as he had been noted for the wildness of his youth. There was a mysterious spot in the captain's history, which even his brother Richard had never been able to clear up. But that spot will be brought to light by and by.
George opened the door, and the stranger entered. He was dressed as a seaman; and Nelly drew back and appeared troubled as her eyes fell upon him. It was evident she had set him down in her mind as an unlucky first-foot. He was not, indeed, the most comely personage that one might desire to look upon on a New-year's morning; for he was a squat little fellow, with huge red whiskers that almost buried his face; his burly head was covered with a sou-wester, and his eyes squinted most fearfully. Nelly could not withdraw her eyes from the man's eyes—she contemplated the squint with horror! Such eyes were never in the head of a first-foot before! She was sure that "something no canny would be the upshot."
"Tak a seat, sir—tak a seat, sir," said Richard, addressing the sailor; "fill out a glass, and mak yoursel at hame. Nelly, bring a clean tumbler. And ye hae a letter frae my brother, the captain, sir," added he, anxiously; "how is he?—where is he?—when did ye see him?"
"I left him at Liverpool, sir," replied the queer-looking sailor; "and, as I intended to take a run down over and to Leith to see my old mother, 'Bill,' says he to me (for my name's Bill, sir—Bill Somers)—well, as I'm saying, 'Bill,' says he, 'you'll be going past the door of a brother of mine, and I wish I were going with you'—(and I wish he had, for, not to say it before you, sir, there an't a better or a cleverer fellow than Captain Rogers in the whole service—nor a luckier one either, though, poor fellow, he has had his bad luck too in some things; and it sticks to him still, and will stick to him)—however, as I say, said he to me—'Bill, here is a bit of a letter, give it to my brother—it concerns my nevy, George'—(yes, George, I think he called him). So I took the letter and set off—that is some days ago—and I arrived at the public-house, a little from this, about four hours since, and intended to cast anchor there for the night; but having taken a glass or two, by way of ballast, I found myself in good sailing trim, and, having inquired about you, and finding that you lived but a short way off, and that the people in the house said, it being New-year's times, you wouldn't be moored yet, I desired the landlady to fill me up half-a-gallon or so of her best rum, that I mightn't come empty-handed—for that wouldn't be lucky, ma'am, I reckon," added he, squinting in the face of Mrs Rogers, who looked now at his eyes, and now at a large bottle, which he drew from beneath a sort of half greatcoat or monkey-jacket. Nelly was no friend to spirit-drinking; nevertheless she was glad that her first-foot, though he did squint, had not come empty-handed.
The letter was handed to Mr Rogers, who, having broke the seal—"Preserve us, Richard!" said Nelly, "that's a lang epistle! I daursay the captain's made his will in't—what does he say?"
"It's a kind, sensible, weel-written letter," said Richard, "for John was a genius a' his days; and there is mair about a will in't than ye're aware o'. But there's nae secret in't. George will read it."
The letter was then given to the genius, who read as follows:—
"Dear Dick,—As one of my crew, Bill Somers, who has sailed with me for a dozen years, is going down to Scotland, and will pass your way, I take the opportunity of writing to you, and letting you know that I am as well as a person who has as much cause to be unhappy as I have can desire to be. The cause of that unhappiness you don't know, and few know it—but I do, and that's enough. I have made some money—perhaps a good deal—but that's of no consequence. I once thought that I might have them of my own flesh and blood to inherit it; however, that was not to be. It is a long story, and a sad story—one that you know nothing about, and which it is of no use to tell you about now. As things are, my nevy George is to be heir to whatever money, goods, and chattels I possess."
As her son read this, Nelly thought that it was nonsense, after all, to say that a squint first-foot was unlucky.