"You're right there, my lad," said Ben. "I mind once offering your good mother a few yards of stuff to make her a Sunday gown, and, would you believe it? she would not take them. When I just hinted that I should leave them behind me, she was quite offended, and declared that if I did she would speak to your father and have the outhouses kept closed, and that it would be our own fault if some day all our goods were seized. She shut me up, I can tell you. Yes, she is a good woman, and as kind and charitable to the poor as any lady in the land. To my fancy she is a lady just as much as Lord Elverston's wife. I mind when he was only Squire Oswald. Because he kept hounds and was in Parliament, and came into a heap of money, he got made a lord, and then a marquis, and now he is setting his face against all us seafaring men hereabouts, and vows that he must uphold the revenue laws, and put a stop to smuggling." "I have no cause to care for the Marquis of Elverston or his sons either, for often when I have passed them and touched my hat, as in decent manners I was bound to do, they have looked at me as if I was a beggar-boy asking for a ha'penny. The young one especially--Lord Reginald--I had words with him one day, when he swore at me for not picking up his whip which he had let drop out riding; and at another time, when I was fishing in the lake at Elverston, he ordered me to be off, because I was catching more than he was--though father has always had the right of fishing there. He came up, with his fists doubled; but I threatened to knock him into the water if he laid hands on me, and he thought better of it. I was right glad when he went off to sea, where I hope he will have learned better manners." "He will have learned to become a greater bully than ever," growled Ben. "I have heard enough about king's ships, and catch me setting foot on board one. I'd sooner be sent to Botany Bay, or spend a year in prison, which I did once, when I was taken running a cargo down Portland way with a dozen other fine fellows. Many of them accepted the offer to go on board a man-of-war; and where are they now? Three or four shot or drowned; the rest have never come back, though whether dead or alive I cannot tell. No, no, Dick; don't you ever go on board a man-of-war of your own free will, or you'll repent it; and, I say, keep clear of pressgangs when you get a little older, or you may be having to go, whether you like it or no."