I will not stop to speak of Mary’s and my grief.
At last Nancy, her eyes red with crying, sat down, with her hands pressed against her head, to consider what was to be done.
“Why, I ought to have sent for him at once!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Peter, run and find Tom Swatridge, and tell him that poor missus has gone.”
I needed no second bidding, and, thankful to have something to do, I started away.
On reaching the Hard, where I expected to find old Tom, I heard from some of the watermen that he had gone off with a fare to Gosport, so I had to wait for his return. Many of the men standing about asked me after mother, and seemed very sorry to hear of her death. I saw them talking earnestly together while I waited for Tom. Others joined them, and then went away, so that the news soon spread about our part of the town. I had to wait a long time, till old Tom came back with several persons in his boat. He pocketed their fares, touching his hat to each before he took any notice of me.
“What cheer, Peter? How’s the missus?” he asked, stepping on shore and dropping the kedge to make fast his boat. “I feared she wouldn’t be up to bum-boating to-day.”
“Mother’s dead,” I answered.
“Dead! The missus dead!” he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his brow, and looking fixedly at me. “The Lord have mercy on us!”
“Nancy wants you, Tom,” I said.
“I’m coming, Peter, I’m coming. I said I’d be a father to you and Mary, and I will, please God,” he replied, recovering himself.