"Look up the street," cried Mary, suddenly pointing.
I did so, and my heart fell. Here came the frightful old Gaston, shambling along, with his arms dangling in front of him; his clothes and head-gear were fit to make a ghost grin. But as if he had been a schoolmaster and I a truant schoolboy, I dodged through the gate and hid behind the rose-bush. For years I could not think of this action without chagrin, but now I could laugh at it.
"You had better not let him catch you," Mary observed, joining me, and we peered about the corner of the rose-bush until after Gaston had passed. That he was in quest of me there was no doubt, and I cannot help thinking that my evident fear amused Mary Tanner, for she stood there smiling at me, and pulling at a green branch over her head (oh, I can well recall how she looked!); but the scene was interrupted by the approach of a slight, quick-stepping man, who rattled a walking-stick along the fence-pickets as he came nearer.
"Here's Captain Temple," I said, straightening up. "Now you'll see whether I'm a sailor or not."
When the Captain was opposite the gate I stepped from behind the rose-bush and saluted.
"Heigh, oh!" he exclaimed, looking longer at Mary than he did at me. (She was a tall girl, and appeared older than her years.) "Heigh, oh, I'm just in time to rescue you, my lad. 'Tis plain you're a prize to beauty! Ay, and would fly her colors too," he added, pointing to the rose, which I had thrust in my bosom. As he spoke the officer bowed gallantly, and Mary dropped him a courtesy.
"Sorry, lad," Captain Temple went on, "but I may have use for you. Can you read and write?"
"Ay, ay, sir; French and English, and Latin too," I answered.
"Ecod! a scholar, eh?" was the return. "Scholars make bad sailors. But Bullard has gone to New London, and I would have somebody come to McCulough's office and help me with the papers. So bid good-by to your sweetheart, and come along—come along. We'll get under way to-morrow mayhap, or the day after."
