"That's right," said the Captain sharply; "that's like my wife;" and placing his hands upon her arms, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead, turned and caught the boy's hand, wrung it hard, and strode out of the room.

The next moment they heard his step in the hall, and directly after on the gravel outside. In another moment he was pa.s.sing the window, to turn and wave his hand, when, as Bob felt heartsick with the feeling of misery which attacked him, Dot, who felt that something dreadful was the matter, hid her face on her mother's shoulder and began to cry bitterly.

This had its good effect upon Mrs. Trevor, who began to kiss and soothe her.

"Hush, hush, my darling," she cried. "You must not cry, but help poor Mamma to try and bear it. You must help me to pray to G.o.d to watch over him and bring him back safely to us from that dreadful place."

These words unlocked the Skipper's silent tongue.

"What dreadful place?" he cried excitedly.

"Africa, my boy--the Gold Coast--the White Man's----"

Mrs. Trevor shuddered, and checked herself.

"Gone!" cried the boy again, with the feeling strong upon him that his father was still angry and had not forgiven him. And he had gone without a word. He had kissed Dot and her mother, but only just pressed his hand.

"Gone!" he said again.

"Yes, my boy," sobbed Mrs. Trevor. "But he is a sailor, and it is his duty to serve his country and his Queen. You, my boy, must----"

The poor Skipper heard no more. With a bitter cry he rushed out of the room, through the hall, and then along the path toward the swing gate, hatless and desperate.

"I must tell father how sorry I am," he panted--"he must bid me good-bye before he goes--I must--I must--tell him."

And then, setting his teeth hard, he ran at full speed to overtake the Captain; for he was too young to understand the workings of his gallant father's heart, and the agony he felt at parting, suddenly ordered, as he had been, to be ready to start that night on a voyage to a deadly part of the African coast--a place from which many who were sent never returned.

CHAPTER V.

The Skipper ran as he had never run before. Through the gate and along the sandy road, but, before he had gone a hundred yards three rough-looking boys, who were out birds'-nesting, saw him coming, and, moved by the same mischievous feeling, formed across the road, yelling and hooting at him as he came on.

At another time the Skipper would have halted, and most likely have turned back; but he was desperate now, and if there had been a dozen boys there he would have done the same.

Clenching his fists tightly and setting his teeth harder, he charged at the biggest of the three, who was in the middle of the road, his eyes flashing as he ran. "Yah, hoo! Stop, thief! stop, thief!" yelled the boy, throwing out his arms. "Stop!"

_Whop--smack--thud!_

The boy was rolling over in the dust. The Skipper had jumped over him, and heard him howling as he ran on; but Bob did not turn his head; he felt sure that he should see his father, as soon as he reached the corner where the High Road ran by in a perfectly straight line through the trees for a couple of miles, down hill and up hill, right past the station at the level crossing.

But the poor Skipper was wrong; he reached the corner and stopped dead, panting hard, for there, a good half-mile away, was the station fly, with a pair of horses going at a gallop so as to catch the train. He stood breathing hard, feeling half stunned, and at last, with head and arms hanging, he turned off the road on to the gra.s.sy border, following the path by which his father and Jeffs came the previous day, till he reached the lake with its sandy edge. Then he turned in among the fir-trees in a dull, half-stupid way, but had not gone many yards, before, utterly overcome by the misery he felt, he threw himself down, hid his face in his hands, and lay there sobbing as if his heart would break.

The poor Skipper did not know how time went: he could think of nothing but that his father had gone away still angry with him, and without bidding him good-bye; and he lay there, half stunned by his misery, till a gruff voice exclaimed: "Hullo! Master Bob! why, here you are, then. Bell's rung ever so long ago; they're looking for you everywhere, and your Ma's in a orful way."

The Skipper started to his feet, but with his head averted from the gardener, who was returning, after going home to his dinner; and setting off running, he made for the house, where he hurried upstairs, into his room, to bathe his swollen eyes.

Before he had finished, his mother was at the bed-room door, looking wild and anxious, but, the sight of the boy's swollen eyes convinced her, that he had only hidden himself away in the wood so that no one should see his tears; she said nothing, but kissed him tenderly, and waited till he was ready to go down.

All that afternoon the boy spent alone, thinking. When the bell rang for tea he was thinking still, but Mrs. Trevor thought it better not to interfere with him, and she only sighed, when she saw him take his hat and go down the garden again, toward the belt of fir-trees by the big pool. "He'll be better to-morrow, poor boy," she said to herself. "How bravely he tries to master it all--how proud his father would be, if he knew."

Poor Mrs. Trevor did not know the fresh grief in store for her, and the anxiety she would have to suffer, for the Skipper had made his plans at last; and that night was spent in horror and despair.

CHAPTER VI.

The Skipper looked quite two years older in the face, as he trudged along through the wood as fast as he could walk, thinking of what he was about to do, for it never once came into his young mind, that he was going to add to the pain his mother was already feeling; and with his mind quite made up, he went straight to the station, to find the boy clerk behind, waggling the handle of the telegraph.

"When's the next train?" asked the Skipper.

"Where to?"

"Portsmouth," said the Skipper.

"Town or Harbour?"

"Where my father's ship is," said the Skipper.

"That's Harbour," said the boy clerk, grinning in recognition. "Going after the Captain?"

The Skipper nodded.

"What cla.s.s?"

"First," said the Skipper, at a venture.

"Two and four, single," said the clerk, picking out a ticket from the rack, and stamping it, by sticking it in a noisy nick, before the would-be traveller could speak. When he could, it was with a bright shilling, given him at his father's last visit, a threepenny-piece, and twopence halfpenny, in his hand.

"Two and four," said the clerk again.

"I--I haven't enough."

"Well, we don't give credit here," said the clerk, laughing.

"If you please, I'll pay the rest when I come back."

"Hum!" said the clerk, "when are you coming back?"

"To-night."

"Then you want a return?"

"Yes," said the Skipper, nodding.