hearty man-of-war's man, as he printed a kiss on
his mother's cheek that might have been heard, as he truly said, "from
the main truck to the keelson." At the same time bushy-browed Harry,
with the blue coat and brass epaulettes of the fire-brigade, was paying
a similar tribute of affection to his sister, while fiery Bob,--the old
uniform on his back and the Victoria Cross on his breast,--seized his
father's hand in both of his with a grip that quite satisfied that son
of Vulcan, despite the absence of two of the fingers.

They were all deep-chested, strong-voiced men in the prime of life; and
what a noise they did make, to be sure!

"You're not too soon, boys," said the smith; "old Moll has been quite
anxious about a mysterious _something_ in the big pot there."

"Let me help you to take it off the fire, mother," said the gallant tar,
stepping forward.

"Nay, that's my duty," cried Harry, leaping to the front, and seizing
the pot, which he dragged from the flames with professional ability.

When the _something_ was displayed, it was found to be a gorgeous
meat-pudding of the most tempting character--round and heavy like a
cannon-ball. Of course it did not flourish alone. Old Moll had been
mysteriously engaged the greater part of that day over the fire, and the
result was a feast worthy, as her husband said, "of the King of the
Cannibal Islands."

"Talking of Cannibal Islands," said Dick, the sailor, during a pause in
the feast, "you've no idea what a glorious place that Pacific Ocean is,
with its coral islands, palm-groves, and sunshine. It would be just the
place to make you well again, Molly. You'd grow fat in a month."

"Ha; get fat, would she," growled Bob, the soldier, "so as to be ready
for the first nigger-chief that took a fancy to have her cooked for
supper--eh? Never fear, Molly, we won't let you go to the Cannibal
Islands. Give us another cut o' that cannon-ball, mother. It's better
eating than those I've been used to see skipping over the battlefield."

"But they're not _all_ Cannibal Islands, man," returned Dick; "why,
wherever the missionaries go, there the niggers get to be as
well-behaved as you are. D'you know, Molly, I've really been thinking
of cutting the service, and emigrating somewhere, if you and Fred would
go with me."

"It would be charming!" replied Molly, with a sweet though languid
smile. "We'd live in a wooden hut, roofed with palm-leaves, and while
you and Fred were a