erceived that old Tom was at work stumping round a wherry, bottom up;
and his wife was sitting on a bench in the boat-arbour, basking in the
warm sun, and working away at her nets. I had landed so quietly, and
they both were so occupied with their respective employments, that they
had not perceived me, and I crept round by the house to surprise them.
I had gained a station behind the old boat, where I overheard the
conversation.

"It's my opinion," said old Tom, who left off hammering for a time,
"that all the nails in Birmingham won't make this boat water-tight. The
timbers are as rotten as a pear, and the nails fall through them. I
have put in one piece more than agreed for; and if I don't put in
another here she'll never swim."

"Well, then, put another piece in," replied Mrs Beazeley.

"Yes; so I will; but I've a notion I shall be out of pocket by this job.
Seven-and-sixpence won't pay for labour and all. However, never mind,"
and Tom carolled forth--

"Is not the sea
Made for the free--
Land for courts and chains alone?
There we are slaves,
But on the waves
Love and liberty's all our own."

"Now, if you do sing, sing truth, Beazeley," said the old woman. "A'n't
our boy pressed into the service? And how can you talk of liberty?"

Old Tom answered by continuing his song--

"No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us;
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us."

"Yes, yes," replied the old woman; "no eye to watch, indeed. He may be
in sickness and in sorrow; he may be wounded, or dying of a fever; and
there's no mother's eye to watch over him. As to all the earth being
forgot, I won't believe that Tom has forgotten his mother."

Old Tom replied--

"Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Burns the same wherever it goes."

"So it does, Tom--so it does; and he's thinking this moment of his
father and mother, I do verily believe, and he loves us more than ever."

"So I believe," replied old Tom--"that is, if he hasn't anything better
to do. But there's a time for all things; and when a man is doing his
duty as a seaman, he mustn't let his thoughts wander. Never fear, old
woman: he'll be back again.

"There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To take care of the life of poor Jack."

"God grant it! God grant it!" replied the old woman, wiping her eyes
with her apron, and then resuming her netting.

"He seems," continued she, "by his letters, to be over-fond o