of the New World. There he sits, like an old Druid Tor of
primeval granite amid the tall wheat and rich clover crops of a modern
farm. He has seen the death of old Europe and the birth-throes of the
new. Go to him, and question him; for his senses are quick as ever;
and just now the old man seems uneasy. He is peering with rheumy eyes
through the groups, and seems listening for a well-known voice.

"There 'a be again! Why don't 'a come, then?"

"Quiet, gramfer, and don't trouble his worship."

"Here an hour, and never speak to poor old Martin! I say, sir"--and the
old man feebly plucks Amyas's cloak as he passes. "I say, captain, do 'e
tell young master old Martin's looking for him."

"Marcy, gramfer, where's your manners? Don't be vexed, sir, he'm a'most
a babe, and tejous at times, mortal."

"Young master who?" says Amyas, bending down to the old man, and smiling
to the dame to let him have his way.

"Master Hawkins; he'm never been a-near me all day."

Off goes Amyas; and, of course, lays hold of the sleeve of young Richard
Hawkins; but as he is in act to speak, the dame lays hold of his,
laughing and blushing.

"No, sir, not Mr. Richard, sir; Admiral John, sir, his father; he always
calls him young master, poor old soul!" and she points to the grizzled
beard and the face scarred and tanned with fifty years of fight and
storm.

Amyas goes to the Admiral, and gives his message.

"Mercy on me! Where be my wits? Iss, I'm a-coming," says the old hero in
his broadest Devon, waddles off to the old man, and begins lugging at
a pocket. "Here, Martin, I've got mun, I've got mun, man alive; but his
Lordship keept me so. Lookee here, then! Why, I do get so lusty of late,
Martin, I can't get to my pockets!"

And out struggle a piece of tarred string, a bundle of papers, a
thimble, a piece of pudding-tobacco, and last of all, a little paper of
Muscovado sugar--then as great a delicacy as any French bonbons would be
now--which he thrusts into the old man's eager and trembling hand.

Old Martin begins dipping his finger into it, and rubbing it on his
toothless gums, smiling and nodding thanks to his young master; while
the little maid at his knee, unrebuked, takes her share also.

"There, Admiral Leigh; both ends meet--gramfers and babies! You and I
shall be like to that one day, young Samson!"

"We shall have slain a good many Philistines first, I hope."

"Amen! so be it; but look to mun! so fine a sailor as ever