After that first cruise of mine in the little _Martin_, I was at home one Saturday afternoon, having had permission from the captain--being what they call `a local boy,' my parents residing in Portsmouth--to remain ashore till Sunday evening at sunset. It was now summer-time, and I was sitting in our back garden, which was more extensive than might have been expected from the surroundings of Bonfire Corner, the house, as I have said, being an old-fashioned one and father having bought the freehold for a mere song in the days when property in Portsea did not fetch such a high price as at present. The pink and white blossoms of the apple-trees, of which we had a tidy number round the garden, had dropped off long ere now and the fruit was beginning to form; but there were plenty of roses still out, and all sorts of old- fashioned flowers, filling the air with fragrance. I was enjoying myself to rights under the shade of an ancient mulberry- tree, which must have been planted in the time of Queen Elizabeth I should think, judging by its gnarled trunk and huge twisted branches. Some of these hung rather low, and Jenny had brought out Jack our thrush and suspended his cage along with those of our piping bullfinch and some of the canaries, just above a rustic table, having an old armchair that had seen its better days, in front of it, which was father's favourite seat when at home and the weather was not too bad to go out of doors. Here was his pipe and tobacco-jar, just as he left them in the morning, it being his habit to take a whiff there after breakfast prior to shouldering his oars, which he always brought back to the cottage of a night for safety's sake, and starting off to his wherry for the day. I felt rather lonesome, for Mick had not been able to get leave to come ashore with me, and Jenny was too busy helping mother house-cleaning to spare much time for a chat after the first greetings had passed on my arriving at the house; so, looking at father's pipe and tobacco-jar, the thought came into my head--probably suggested by that wily old Serpent, who, the parson says, is always on the watch to put evil thoughts into empty minds--"Why shouldn't I learn to smoke?" I don't think I would have carried this thought into action had it not been for `Ally Sloper,' our cockatoo, who just then came hopping down the garden-path from the scullery, where he had been having a rare carrying-on with the cat, the rum bird as soon as he caught sight of me flying up on the table and catching hold of the end of father's favourite churchwarden with his claw. "Say-rah!" he shouted out in the very tones of father's voice, so that I could almost fancy he were there sitting alongside of me. "Blest if I don't have a pipe!" That settled the matter.