ther's chair; 'the very subject I came to
speak to you about. A man with one arm, father, is not of much use in
the busy world.'

This was one of those vast propositions which Mr Willet had never
considered for an instant, and required time to 'tackle.' Wherefore he
made no answer.

'At all events,' said Joe, 'he can't pick and choose his means of
earning a livelihood, as another man may. He can't say "I will turn my
hand to this," or "I won't turn my hand to that," but must take what he
can do, and be thankful it's no worse.--What did you say?'

Mr Willet had been softly repeating to himself, in a musing tone, the
words 'defence of the Salwanners:' but he seemed embarrassed at having
been overheard, and answered 'Nothing.'

'Now look here, father.--Mr Edward has come to England from the West
Indies. When he was lost sight of (I ran away on the same day, father),
he made a voyage to one of the islands, where a school-friend of his
had settled; and, finding him, wasn't too proud to be employed on his
estate, and--and in short, got on well, and is prospering, and has come
over here on business of his own, and is going back again speedily. Our
returning nearly at the same time, and meeting in the course of the late
troubles, has been a good thing every way; for it has not only enabled
us to do old friends some service, but has opened a path in life for me
which I may tread without being a burden upon you. To be plain, father,
he can employ me; I have satisfied myself that I can be of real use to
him; and I am going to carry my one arm away with him, and to make the
most of it.

In the mind's eye of Mr Willet, the West Indies, and indeed all foreign
countries, were inhabited by savage nations, who were perpetually
burying pipes of peace, flourishing tomahawks, and puncturing strange
patterns in their bodies. He no sooner heard this announcement,
therefore, than he leaned back in his chair, took his pipe from his
lips, and stared at his son with as much dismay as if he already beheld
him tied to a stake, and tortured for the entertainment of a lively
population. In what form of expression his feelings would have found
a vent, it is impossible to say. Nor is it necessary: for, before a
syllable occurred to him, Dolly Varden came running into the room, in
tears, threw herself on Joe's breast without a word of explanation, and
clasped her white arms round his neck.

'Dolly!' cried Joe. 'Dolly!'

'Ay, call me that; call