"I think, my boy, you had better stop down here for the present for both your sakes. I will let you know when you can go up to him."

So Bill crouched before the fire and waited. He heard movements upstairs and wondered what they were doing and why they didn't keep quiet, and when he would be allowed to go up. Once or twice the nurse came down for hot water, but Bill did not speak to her; but in half an hour Mrs. Andrews herself returned, looking, Bill thought, even paler than before.

"I have just slipped down to tell you, my boy, that it's all over.

They gave him chloroform, and have taken his foot off."

"And didn't it hurt it awful?" Bill asked in an awed voice.

"Not in the least. He knew nothing about it, and the first thing he asked when he came to was when they were going to begin. They will be going away directly, and then you can come up and sit quietly in his room if you like. The doctors say he will probably drop asleep."

Bill was obliged to go outside again and wrestle with himself before he felt that he was fit to go up into George's room. It was a long struggle, and had George caught his muttered remonstrances to himself he would have felt that Bill had suffered a bad relapse into his former method of talking. It came out in jerks between his sobs.

"Come, none of that now. Aint yer ashamed of yerself, a-howling and a-blubbering like a gal! Call yerself a man!--you are a babby, that's what you are. Now, dry up, and let's have no more of it."

But it was a long time before he again mastered himself; then he went to the scullery and held his head under the tap till the water took away his breath, then polished his face till it shone, and then went and sat quietly down till Mrs. Andrews came in and told him that he could go upstairs to George. He went up to the bedside and took George's hand, but he could not trust himself to speak.

"Well, Bill, old boy," George said cheerily, but in a somewhat lower voice than usual, "this is a sudden go, isn't it?"

Bill nodded. He was still speechless.

"Don't you take it to heart, Bill," George said, feeling that the lad was shaking from head to foot. "It won't make much odds, you know. I shall soon be about again all right. I expect they will be able to put on an artificial foot, and I shall be stumping about as well as ever, though I shouldn't be much good at a race."

"I wish it had been me," Bill broke out. "I would have jammed my head in between them wheels cheerful, that I would, rather than you should have gone and done it."

"Fortunately there was no time," George said with a smile. "Don't you fret yourself, Bill; one can get on well enough without a foot, and it didn't hurt me a bit coming off. No, nor the squeeze either, not regular hurting; it was just a sort of scrunch, and then I didn't feel anything more. Why, I have often hurt myself ten times as much at play and thought nothing of it. I expect it looked much worse to you than it felt to me."

"We will talk of it another time," Bill said huskily. "Your mother said I wasn't to talk, and I wasn't to let you talk, but just to sit down here quiet, and you are to try to go off to sleep." So saying he sat down by the bedside. George asked one or two more questions, but Bill only shook his head. Presently George closed his eyes, and a short time afterwards his quiet regular breathing showed that he was asleep.

The next six weeks pa.s.sed pleasantly enough to George. Every day hampers containing flowers and various niceties in the way of food were sent down by Mr. Penrose, and that gentleman himself very frequently called in for a chat with him. As soon as the wound had healed an instrument-maker came down from town to measure him for an artificial foot, but before he was able to wear this he could get about on crutches.

The first day that he was downstairs Mr. Penrose brought Nelly down to see him. The child looked pale and awed as he came in.

"My little girl has asked me to thank you for her, George," Mr.

Penrose said as she advanced timidly and placed her hand in his. "I have not said much to you about my own feelings and I won't say much about hers; but you can understand what we both feel. Why, my boy, it was a good Providence, indeed, which threw you in my way! I thought so when you saved the mill from destruction. I feel it tenfold more now that you have saved my child. The ways of G.o.d are, indeed, strange.

Who would have thought that all this could have sprung from that boy s.n.a.t.c.hing the locket from Helen as we came out of the theater! And now about the future, George. I owe you a great debt, infinitely greater than I can ever repay; but what I can do I will. In the future I shall regard you as my son, and I hope that you will look to me as to a father. I have been talking to your mother, and she says that she thinks your tastes lie altogether in the direction of engineering. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. I have often thought I would rather be an engineer than anything else, but I don't like----"

"Never mind what you like and what you don't like," Mr. Penrose said quietly. "You belong to me now, you know and must do as you are told.

What I propose is this, that you shall go to a good school for another three years, and I will then apprentice you to a first-cla.s.s engineer, either mechanical or civil as you may then prefer, and when you have learned your business I will take good care that you are pushed on. What do you say to that?"

"I think it is too much altogether," George said.

"Never mind about that," Mr. Penrose said, "that is my business. If that is the only objection we can imagine it settled. There is another thing. I know how attached you are to your friend Bill, and I am indebted to him, too, for the part he played at the fire, so I propose, if he is willing, to put him to a good middle-cla.s.s school for a bit. In the course of a couple of years he will get a sufficient education to get on fairly with, and then I propose, according as you may choose to be a civil or mechanical engineer, to place him with a mason or smith; then by the time that you are ready to start in business he will be ready to take a place under you, so that you may again work together."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" George exclaimed, even more pleased at the news relating to Bill than at his own good fortune, great as was the delight which the prospect opened by Mr. Penrose's offer caused him.

As soon as George could be moved, Mr. Penrose sent him with his mother and Bill down to the seaside. Here George rapidly regained strength, and when, after a stay there of two months, he returned to town, he was able to walk so well with his artificial foot that his loss would not have been noticed by a stranger.

The arrangements settled by Mr. Penrose were all in due time carried out. George went for three years to a good school, and was then apprenticed to one of the leading civil engineers. With him he remained five years and then went out for him to survey a railroad about to be constructed in Brazil, and remained there as one of the staff who superintended its construction. Bill, who was now a clever young mason, accompanied him, and through George's interest with the contractor obtained the sub-contract for the masonry of some of the bridges and culverts.

This was ten years ago, and George Andrews is now one of the most rising engineers of the day, and whatever business he undertakes his friend Bill is still his right-hand man. Mr. Penrose has been in all respects as good as his word, and has been ready to a.s.sist George with his personal influence in all his undertakings, and in all respects has treated him as a son, while Nelly has regarded him with the affection of a sister.

Both George and Bill have been married some years, and Mrs. Andrews the elder is one of the proudest and happiest of mothers. She still lives with her son at the earnest request of his wife, who is often left alone during George's frequent absence abroad on professional duties. As for Bill, he has not even yet got over his wonder at his own good fortune, and ever blesses the day when he first met George in Covent Garden.

DO YOUR DUTY.

Early in the month of March, 1801, an old sailor was sitting on a bench gazing over the stretch of sea which lies between Hayling Island and the Isle of Wight. The prospect was a lively one, for in those days ships of war were constantly running in and out, and great convoys of merchantmen sailed under the protection of our cruisers; and the traffic between Spithead and Portsmouth resembled that of a much frequented road.

Peter Langley had been a boatswain in the king's service, and had settled down in his old age on a pension, and lived in a small cottage near the western extremity of Hayling Island. Here he could see what was going on at Spithead, and when he needed a talk with his old "chums" could get into his boat, which was lying hauled up on the sand, and with a good wind arrive in an hour at the Hard. He was sitting at present on a portion of a wreck thrown up by a very high tide on the sandy slope, when his meditations were disturbed by a light step behind him, and a lad in a sailor's dress, some fifteen years of age, with a bright honest face, came running down behind him.

"Hallo, dad!"

"Hallo, my boy! Bless me, who'd ha' thought o' seeing you!" and the old man clasped the boy in his arms in a way that showed the close relationship between the two. "I didn't expect you for another week."

"No! we've made a quick pa.s.sage of it," the boy said; "fine wind all the way up, with a gale or two in the right quarter. We only arrived in the river on Monday, and as soon as we were fairly in dock I got leave to run down to see you."

"What were you in such a hurry for?" the old sailor said. "It's the duty of every hand to stop by the ship till she's cleared out."

"I have always stayed before till the crew were paid off; but no sooner had we cast anchor than one of the owners came on board, and told the captain that another cargo was ready, that the ship was to be unloaded with all speed, and to take in cargo and sail again in a fortnight at the utmost, as a fleet was on the point of sailing for the West Indies under a strong convoy."

"A fortnight! That's sharp work," the old sailor said. "And the goods will have to be bundled out and in again with double speed. I know what it will be. You will be going out with the paint all wet, and those lubbers the stevedores will rub it off as fast as it's put on.

Well, a few days at sea will shake all down into its place. But how did you get leave?"

"I am rather a favorite with the first officer," the lad said. "The men who desired to leave were to be discharged at once and a fresh gang taken on board, so I asked him directly the news came round if I might have four days away. He agreed at once, and I came down by the night coach; and here I am for eight-and-forty hours."

"It's a short stay," the old sailor said, "after more than a year away, but we mustn't waste the time in regretting it. You've grown, Harry, and are getting on fast. In another couple of years you'll be fit to join a king's ship. I suppose you've got over your silly idea about sticking to the merchant service. It's all very well to learn your business there as a boy, and I grant that in some things a merchantman is a better school than a king's ship. They have fewer hands, and each man has to do more and to learn to think for himself.

Still, after all, there's no place like a saucy frigate for excitement and happiness."

"I don't know, dad," the boy said. "I have been learning a little navigation. The first officer has been very kind to me, and I hope in the course of two or three years to pa.s.s and get a berth as a third mate. Still, I should like three or four years on board a man-of-war."

"I should think so," the old sailor said, "for a man ought to do his duty to his country."

"But there are plenty of men to do their duty to their country," the boy said.

"Not a bit of it!" the sailor exclaimed. "There's a great difficulty in finding hands for the navy. Everyone wants to throw their duty upon everyone else. They all hanker after the higher wages and loafing life on board a merchantman, and hate to keep themselves smart and clean as they must do in a king's ship. If I had my way, every tar should serve at least five years of his life on board a man-of-war. It is above all things essential, Harry, that you should do your duty."

"I am ready to do my duty, dad," the boy said, "when the time comes. I do it now to the best of my power, and I have in my pocket a letter from the first officer to you. He told you when you went down with me to see me off on my last voyage that he would keep an eye upon me, and he has done so."

"That's right," the old man said. "As you say, Harry, a man may do his duty anywhere; still, for all that, it is part of his duty, if he be a sailor, to help his majesty, for a time at least, against his enemies.

Look at me. Why, I served man and boy for nigh fifty years, and was in action one way and another over a hundred times, and here I am now with a snug little pension, and as comfortable as his gracious majesty himself. What can you want more than that?"

"I don't know that I can want more," the boy said, "in its way, at least; but there are other ways in the merchant service. I might command a ship by the time I am thirty, and be my own master instead of being a mere part of a machine. I have heard the b.a.l.l.s flying too,"

he said, laughing.