In half an hour they arrived at a village, and went into a public-house.

Mary went up stairs and changed her dress; and now that she had completed her arrangements, she looked a very pretty, modest young woman, and none could have supposed that the day before she had been flaunting in the street of a seafaring town. Inquiries were made, as might be supposed, and Mary replied that she was going to service, and that her brother was escorting her. They had their breakfast, and, after resting two hours, they proceeded on their journey.

For some days they travelled more deliberately, until they found themselves in the village of Manstone, in Dorsetshire, where they, as usual, put up at an humble public-house. Here Mary told a different story; she had been disappointed in a situation, and they intended to go back to their native town.

The landlady of the hotel was prepossessed in favour of such a very pretty girl as Mary, as well as with the appearance of Joey, who, although in his sailor's dress, was very superior in carriage and manners to a boy in his supposed station in life, and she said that if they would remain there a few days she would try to procure them some situation. The third day after their arrival, she informed Mary that she had heard of a situation as under-housemaid at the squire's, about a mile off, if she would like to take it, and Mary gladly consented. Mrs Derborough sent up word, and received orders for Mary to make her appearance, and Mary accordingly went up to the hall, accompanied by Joey. When she arrived there, and made known her business, she was desired to wait in the servants' hall until she was sent for. In about a quarter of a hour she was summoned, and, leaving Joey in the hall, she went up to see the lady of the house, who inquired whether she had ever been out at service before, and if she had a good character.

Mary replied that she had never been out at service, and that she had no character at all (which, by the bye, was very true).

The lady of the house smiled at this apparently _naive_ answer from so very modest-looking and pretty a girl, and asked who her parents were.

To this question Mary's answer was ready, and she further added that she had left home in search of a place, and had been disappointed; that her father and mother were dead, but her brother was down below, and had escorted her; and that Mrs Chopper was an old friend of her mother's, and could answer to her character.

The lady was prepossessed by Mary's appearance, by the report of Mrs Derborough, and by the respectability of her brother travelling with her, and agreed to try her; but at the same time said she must have Mrs Chopper's address, that she might write to her; but, the place being vacant, she might come to-morrow morning: her wages were named, and immediately accepted; and thus did Mary obtain her situation.

People say you cannot be too particular when you choose servants; and, to a certain degree, this is true; but this extreme caution, however selfishness and prudence may dictate it, is but too often the cause of servants who have committed an error, and have in consequence been refused a character, being driven to dest.i.tution and misery, when they had a full intention, and would have, had they been permitted, redeemed their transgression.

Mary was resolved to be a good and honest girl. Had the lady of the house been very particular, and had others to whom she might afterwards have applied been the same, all her good intentions might have been frustrated, and she might have been driven to despair, if not to her former evil courses. It is perhaps fortunate that everybody in the world is not so particular as your very good people, and that there is an occasional loophole by which those who have erred are permitted to return to virtue. Mary left the room delighted with her success, and went down to Joey in the servants' hall. The servants soon found out from Mary that she was coming to the house, and one of the men chucked her under the chin, and told her she was a very pretty girl. Mary drew back, and Joey immediately resented the liberty, stating that he would not allow any man to insult his sister, for Joey was wise enough to see that he could not do a better thing to serve Mary. The servant was insolent in return, and threatened to chastise Joey, and ordered him to leave the house. The women took our hero's part. The housekeeper came down at the time, and hearing the cause of the dispute, was angry with the footman; the butler took the side of the footman; and the end of it was that the voices were at the highest pitch when the bell rang, and the men being obliged to answer it, the women were for the time left in possession of the field.

"What is that noise below?" inquired the master of the house.

"It is a boy, sir--the brother, I believe of the girl who has come as under-housemaid, who has been making a disturbance."

"Desire him to leave the house instantly."

"Yes, sir," replied the butler, who went down to enforce the order.

Little did the master of the house imagine that in giving that order he was turning out of the house his own son; for the squire was no other than Mr Austin. Little did the inconsolable Mrs Austin fancy that her dear, lamented boy was at that moment under the same roof with her, and been driven out of it by her menials; but such was the case. So Joey and Mary quitted the hall, and bent their way back to the village inn.

"Well, Mary," said Joey, "I am very glad that you have found a situation."

"And so I am very thankful, indeed, Joey," replied she; "and only hope that you will be able to get one somewhere about here also, and then we may occasionally see something of one another."

"No, Mary," replied Joey, "I shall not look for a situation about here; the only reason I had for wishing it was that I might see you; but that will be impossible now."

"Why so?"

"Do you think that I will ever put my foot into that house again, after the manner I was treated to-day? Never."

"I was afraid so," replied Mary, mournfully.

"No, Mary, I am happy that you are provided for; for I can seek my own fortune, and I will write to you, and let you know what I do; and you will write to me, Mary, won't you?"

"It will be the greatest pleasure that will be left to me, Joey; for I love you as dearly as it you were my own brother."

The next day our hero and Mary parted, with many tears on her side, and much sorrow on his. Joey refused to take more of the money than what he had in his possession, but promised; in case of need, to apply to Mary, who said that she would h.o.a.rd up everything for him; and she kept her word. Joey, having escorted Mary to the hall lodge, remained at the inn till the next morning, and then set off once more on his travels.

Our hero started at break of day, and had walked, by a western road, from Manstone, about six miles, when he met two men coming towards him.

They were most miserably clad--neither of them had shoes or stockings; one had only a waistcoat and a pair of trousers, with a sack on his back; the other had a pair of blue trousers torn to ribbons, a Guernsey frock, and a tarpaulin hat. They appeared what they represented themselves to be, when they demanded charity, two wrecked seamen, who were travelling to a northern port to obtain employment; but had these fellows been questioned by a sailor, he would soon have discovered, by their total ignorance of anything nautical, that they were impostors.

Perhaps there is no plan more successful than this, which is now carried on to an enormous extent by a set of rogues and depredators, who occasionally request charity, but too often extort it, and add to their spoils by robbing and plundering everything in their way. It is impossible for people in this country to ascertain the truth of the a.s.sertions of these vagabonds, and it appears unfeeling to refuse a.s.sistance to a poor seaman who has lost his all: even the cottager offers his mite, and thus do they levy upon the public to an extent which is scarcely credible; but it should be known that, in all cases of shipwreck, sailors are now invariably relieved and decently clothed, and supplied with the means of travelling to obtain employment; and whenever a man appeals for charity in a half-naked state, he is invariably an impostor or a worthless scoundrel.

The two men were talking loud and laughing when they approached our hero. As soon as they came near, they looked hard at him, and stopped right before him, so as to block up the footpath.

"Hilloah, my little sailor! where are you bound to?" said one to Joey, who had his common sailor's dress on.

"And, I say, what have you got in that bundle?" said the other; "and how are you off for brads?--haven't you something to spare for brother-seamen? Come, feel in your pockets; or shall I feel for you?"

Joey did not much like this exordium; he replied, stepping into the road at the same time, "I've no money, and the bundle contains my clothes."

"Come, come," said the first, "you're not going to get off that way. If you don't wish your brains beaten out, you'll just hand over that bundle for me to examine;" and so saying, the man stepped into the road towards Joey, who continued to retreat to the opposite side.

There was no footpath at the side of the road to which Joey retreated, but a very thick quick-set hedge, much too strong for any man to force his way through. Joey perceived this; and as the man came at him to seize his bundle, he contrived, by a great effort, to swing it over the hedge into the field on the other side. The man, exasperated at this measure on the part of our hero, ran to seize him; but Joey dodged under him, and ran away down the road for a few yards, where he picked up a heavy stone for his defence, and there remained, prepared to defend himself, and not lose his bundle if he could help it.

"You get hold of him, Bill, while I go round for the bundle," said the man who had followed across the road, and he immediately set off to find the gate, or some entrance into the field, while the other man made after Joey. Our hero retreated at full speed; the man followed, but could not keep pace with our hero, as the road was newly-gravelled, and he had no shoes. Joey, perceiving this, slackened his pace, and when the man was close to him, turned short round, and aiming the stone with great precision, hit him on the forehead, and the fellow fell down senseless. In the meantime the other miscreant had taken the road in the opposite direction to look for the gate; and Joey, now rid of his a.s.sailant, perceived that in the hedge, opposite to the part of the road where he now stood, there was a gap which he could get through. He scrambled into the field, and ran for his bundle. The other man, who had been delayed, the gate being locked, and fenced with thorns, had but just gained the field when Joey had his bundle in his possession. Our hero caught it up, and ran like lightning to the gap, tossed over his bundle, and followed it, while the man was still a hundred yards from him. Once more in the high road, Joey took to his heels, and having run about two hundred yards, he looked back to ascertain if he was pursued, and perceived the man standing over his comrade, who was lying where he had fallen. Satisfied that he was now safe, Joey pursued his journey at a less rapid rate, although he continued to look back every minute, just by way of precaution; but the fellows, although they would not lose an opportunity of what appeared such an easy robbery, had their own reasons for continuing their journey, and getting away from that part of the country.

Our hero pursued his way for two miles, looking out for some water by the wayside to quench his thirst, when he observed in the distance that there was something lying on the roadside. As he came nearer, he made it out to be a man prostrate on the gra.s.s, apparently asleep, and a few yards from where the man lay was a knife-grinder's wheel, and a few other articles in the use of a travelling tinker; a fire, nearly extinct, was throwing up a tiny column of smoke, and a saucepan, which appeared to have been upset, was lying beside it. There was something in the scene before him which created a suspicion in the mind of our hero that all was not right; so, instead of pa.s.sing on, he walked right up to where the man lay, and soon discovered that his face and dress were b.l.o.o.d.y. Joey knelt down by the side of him, and found that he was senseless, but breathing heavily. Joey untied the handkerchief which was round his neck, and which was apparently very tight, and almost immediately afterwards the man appeared relieved and opened his eyes.

After a little time he contrived to utter one word, "Water!" and Joey, taking up the empty saucepan, proceeded in search of it. He soon found some, and brought it back. The tinker had greatly recovered during his absence, and as soon as he had drunk the water, sat upright.

"Don't leave me, boy," said the tinker; "I feel very faint."

"I will stay by you as long as I can be of any use to you," replied Joey; "what has happened?"

"Robbed and almost murdered!" replied the man, with a groan.

"Was it by those two rascals without shoes and stockings who attempted to rob me?" inquired Joey.

"Yes, the same, I've no doubt. I must lie down for a time, my head is so bad," replied the man, dropping back upon the gra.s.s.

In a few minutes the exhausted man fell asleep, and Joey remained sitting by his side for nearly two hours. At last, his new companion awoke, raised himself up, and, dipping his handkerchief into the saucepan of water, washed the blood from his head and face.

"This might have been worse, my little fellow," said he to Joey, after he had wiped his face; "one of those rascals nearly throttled me, he pulled my handkerchief so tight. Well, this is a wicked world, this, to take away a fellow-creature's life for thirteenpence-halfpenny, for that was all the money they found in my pocket. I thought an itinerant tinker was safe from highway robbery, at all events. Did you not say that they attacked you, or did I dream it?"

"I did say so; it was no dream."

"And how did a little midge like you escape?"

Joey gave the tinker a detail of what had occurred.

"Cleverly done, boy, and kindly done now to come to my help, and to remain by me. I was going down the road, and as you have come down, I presume we are going the same way," replied the tinker.

"Do you feel strong enough to walk now?"

"Yes, I think I can; but there's the grindstone."

"Oh, I'll wheel that for you."

"Do, that's a good boy, for I tremble very much, and it would be too heavy for me now."

Joey fixed his bundle with the saucepan, etcetera, upon the knife-grinder's wheel, and rolled it along the road, followed by the tinker, until they came to a small hamlet, about two miles from the spot from which they had started; they halted when they were fifty yards from the first cottage, and the tinker, having selected a dry place under the hedge, said, "I must stop here a little while?"