ed to do.

My mother cried a great deal during the night; the next morning she gave
me five guineas as pocket-money, recommending me to be careful of it,
and telling me I must look to Captain Delmar for my future supply. She
tied up the little linen I had brought with me in a handkerchief, and
shortly after the coxswain knocked at the door, and came upstairs to
claim me for his Majesty's service.

"I'm come for the youngster, if you please, marm," said the coxswain, a
fine, tall seaman, remarkably clean and neat in his dress.

My mother put her arms round me, and burst into tears.

"I beg your pardon, marm," said the coxswain, after standing silent
about a minute, "but could not you _do the piping_ after the youngster's
gone? If I stay here long I shall be blowed up by the skipper, as sure
as my name's Bob Cross."

"I will detain you but a few seconds longer," replied my mother; "I may
never see him again."

"Well, that's a fact; my poor mother never did me," replied the
coxswain.

This observation did not raise my mother's spirits. Another pause
ensued, during which I was bedewed with her tears, when the coxswain
approached again--

"I ax your pardon, marm; but if you know anything of Captain Delmar, you
must know he's not a man to be played with, and you would not wish to
get me into trouble. It's a hard thing to part with a child, I'm told,
but it wouldn't help me if I said anything about your tears. If the
captain were to go to the boat, and find me not there, he'd just say,
`What were my orders, sir?' and after that, you know, marm, there is not
a word for me to say."

"Take him, then, my good man," replied my mother, pressing me
convulsively to her heart--"take him; Heaven bless you, my dear child."

"Thanky, marm; that's kind of you," replied the coxswain. "Come, my
little fellow, we'll soon make a man of you."

I once more pressed my lips to my poor mother's, and she resigned me to
the coxswain, at the same time taking some silver off the table and
putting it into his hand.

"Thanky, marm; that's kinder still, to think of another when you're in
distress yourself; I shan't forget it. I'll look after the lad a bit
for you, as sure as my name's Bob Cross."

My mother sank down on the sofa, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

Bob Cross caught up the bundle, and led me away. I was very melancholy,
for I loved my mother, and could not bear to see her so distressed, and
for some time we walked