"But I don't look to be idle, sir," continued Franks, in a tone more cheerful, "Bessy will have my bit of a pension for the mess and the berth, and I'll see if I can't make myself useful in some way or other—go errands, or maybe try the teaching tack; anything would be better than lying like a log on the shore." "Teaching?" repeated the clergyman. "What are you able to teach?" "Not many things," replied the sailor, with a smile, "reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic, and not much of them neither; but I like a book when I can overhaul one, and I usually make good way with the younkers." "I well believe that," said Mr. Curtis; "I doubt not that you've many a good sea story to tell, and stirring adventure to relate. I see," he continued, "from the badge on your hat that you've served in the 'Queen;' I daresay that you lost your arm by a Russian ball from a Sebastopol battery," and the vicar looked with interest at the young seaman, picturing him at the post of duty amidst the smoke and din of a fight. "No, sir," replied Ned, frankly; "I smashed my arm on shore, stumbling down an open cellar on a starless night." Mr. Curtis slightly raised his eyebrows, and there was a little less interest in his manner as he inquired, "And who is the sister with whom you are to live?" "Bessy Peele, sir; she's a widow in these parts." "I know her," said Mr. Curtis, rather drily; "she lives in the thatched cottage yonder, whose chimney you can just see over these trees. I hope that she may make you comfortable," he added. "It's not much, sir, that I want," said the sailor: "a dry berth, a wholesome mess, and a welcome, he who gets that may be thankful, whether on sea or on shore." "I shall call and see you," said the clergyman, kindly, "and have a little talk with you on other matters than those which concern but this passing life." "I shall be heartily glad, sir," replied Ned, again touching his glazed hat; "it's well to have some one to teach us how to steer 'twixt the rocks and the shoals." "I hope that we have both the same port in view," said the clergyman. "I hope so," answered Ned Franks, cheerfully; and as the vicar bade him good day, he turned in the direction of his new home. Mrs. Peele's cottage stood a little retired from the dusty high road, being divided from it by a bit of waste ground, on which some pigs were feeding. The ground was overgrown with nettles and straggling briars: the dwelling was of mud, with a roof of thatch, green with lichen and moss, under which, as under heavy overhanging brows, peeped two dots of windows like eyes. The door stood open, and within Ned caught sight of his sister engaged in washing. Mrs. Peele was a tall bony woman, with a habitual stoop, clad in a rusty black dress, with a cap which was rustier still. Broad lines of grey streaked her hair, and Ned's first feeling was that of painful surprise at the change which years had made. He did not stop, however, to dwell on the past.