During the last few weeks domestic matters at Roscommon Street had not been at all pleasant. The finances of the family had fallen very low, and it had been evident that here, also, as at Ffynnon Beuno, there was a wide distinction between children who had parents and those who were orphaned. For if ever a discussion rose between my cousin and myself, my uncle and aunt were invariably partial to their own, when called to arbitrate between us. It was obvious that I was the least aggressive and troublesome, the most respectful and sympathetic, of the younger members of the family, but these merits were as naught when weighed in the scales of affection. Teddy’s temper, made arrogant by the conceit that he was his father’s son, required to be curbed sometimes; but if I asserted myself, and promised him a thrashing, the maternal bosom was a sure refuge; and, as each mother thinks her son more perfect than any other boy, a certain defeat awaited me. Just as I had submitted to the humours of David at Ffynnon Beuno, I was forced to submit to those of Teddy. If aunt’s censures of me were not sufficient to ensure immunity to the nagging boy, there was the old man’s rough tongue to encounter. Slowly the thought was formed that if I were not to be permitted to resent Teddy’s infirmities of temper, nor to obtain the protection of his over-indulgent parents, my condition could not be worse if I exchanged the growing intolerance of the evil for some other, where, at least, I should enjoy the liberty of kicking occasionally. On striking a balance between the gains of living with Teddy’s family and the crosses received through Teddy’s insolence, it appeared to my imperfect mind that my humiliation was in excess. I had not obtained the clerkship for which I had left Wales, my gold sovereign was gone, all my clothes were in the pawnshop. I had fallen so low as to become a butcher’s errand boy, under a brute. At home, there was as little peace at night, as there was, during the day, with the foreman. Exposed to the unruly spitefulness of Teddy, the frowns of aunt, the hasty anger of uncle, and the unholy fury of the Scotsman, I was in a fair way of being ground very fine. At this juncture, and while in an indifferent mood, Fate caused a little incident to occur which settled my course for me. I was sent to the packet-ship ‘Windermere’ with a basket of provisions, and a note to Captain David Hardinge. While the great man read his note, I gazed admiringly at the rich furniture of the cabin, the gilded mirrors, and glittering cornices, and speculated as to the intrinsic value of this gilding, but, suddenly, I became conscious that I was being scrutinised. ‘I see,’ said the captain, in a strong and rich voice, ‘that you admire my cabin. How would you like to live in it?’ ‘Sir?’ I answered, astonished. ‘I say, how would you like to sail in this ship?’ ‘But I know nothing of the sea, sir.’