"My boy, my boy!" she exclaimed presently, her eyes filling with tears as she glanced at the contents of the enclosure, which she could only dimly see; albeit, she learnt enough to know that I had passed for cadet and was directed to join the _Illustrious_ training-ship, then stationed at Portsmouth, like as her successor the _Britannia_ was for a long while prior to her removal to Dartmouth. "It is as we thought, and as you hoped, Jack. You are going to have your wish at last and leave your father and me for your new home on the sea." The cock-eyed waiter broke the rather melancholy silence that ensued. "Them's outfitters' cards, sir, yezsir," he said, bringing in his salver again presently, piled up with circulars and square pieces of pasteboard which he placed before Dad. "Parties" as heerd tell young gents "as passed and wants fer to get the horder for his h'uniforms, sir, yezsir!" Having thus eased his mind, my old friend bustled out of the room as quickly as he had entered, no doubt afraid of my father giving him another "dressing-down." Dad, however, was not thinking of the waiter or his cheeky manner for the moment. "By Jove, Jack!" he cried, "you're getting quite an important personage. Why, we'll have all the tradesmen of Portsea struggling for your lordly custom if we stop here much longer! Do they say anything about the boy's outfit in that letter, my dear?" "Oh, yes," replied my mother, taking up the missive, which she had dropped on her knee, and going on to read it over to herself again. "There's a long list of things that he is ordered to get." "Then, the sooner we see about getting them the better," said Dad, looking over the letter, too. "We'll go round to Richardson's this afternoon if you like, my dear. I think he's the best man to rig-out Jack, and, besides, I've had dealings with him before." "Very well, I'll go and put on my bonnet at once," said mother, rising from the table as she spoke. "You must tell the man, Frank, to have the poor boy's things ready as quickly as possible, for I must mark them all before he goes to sea. Ah! there'll be nobody to look after his clothes there!" "No, my dear, no one but his messmates in the midshipmen's berth," said Dad, jokingly, with a wink to me, wishing to get mother out of her sorrowful mood. "_They_ will take precious good care of his wardrobe for him, I wager; that is, unless he keeps his weather eye open and a sharp look-out and never leaves his sea-chest unlocked. All the marking in the world won't save his gear if he does that, I can tell you and him!" Mother was not to be put off her purpose, however, despite Dad's chaff. So, when the outfitter sent home my elaborate kit, quite complete in every detail, within a couple of days after our visit to his shop, she carefully marked every article with my name in full, adding some numerical hieroglyph of her own that denoted how many of each description of garment I possessed.