Cato stood by trying hard to smile, but the tears were running down his cheeks and dropping from the point of his grizzled chin.
The tide and wind were ripe to swing the vessel out from shore; the last good-byes had been said. George was standing by Uncle Daniel on the deck. For some few minutes the twins had not been able to speak a word, for they would have cried hysterically, and they knew it well enough.
Suddenly William drew his hand across his eyes; Uncle Nathan started. There was the red scar!
The gang-plank was being drawn, and the old man staggered. "Stop there a minute!" he shouted, before the last cable was thrown off. "Stop there, I say!"
He rushed up the swaying plank to the deck, holding William by the arm, and fairly dragging him after him.
"You little villains!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, as he pushed up to where his brother Daniel and George were standing near the taffrail. He exchanged the boys much as one person would take one article in place of another, and did not even have time to reply to Uncle Daniel's astonished exclamation, but holding George as if he were afraid he would soar into the air, and with a grasp that made the boy wince with pain, he muttered beneath his breath, and fairly had to make a jump for it to regain the dock.
Once there, Uncle Nathan began to shake the boy so fiercely that his head almost flew off his shoulders.
The little brig swung slowly out, and her blocks grated as her yards were braced around. Then her jibs clattered up the forestays and she caught the wind.
Strange to say, if it had not been for Uncle Nathan's action on this day this story might never have been written.