his habit to take a whiff there after breakfast prior to
shouldering his oars, which he always brought back to the cottage of a
night for safety's sake, and starting off to his wherry for the day.

I felt rather lonesome, for Mick had not been able to get leave to come
ashore with me, and Jenny was too busy helping mother house-cleaning to
spare much time for a chat after the first greetings had passed on my
arriving at the house; so, looking at father's pipe and tobacco-jar, the
thought came into my head--probably suggested by that wily old Serpent,
who, the parson says, is always on the watch to put evil thoughts into
empty minds--"Why shouldn't I learn to smoke?"

I don't think I would have carried this thought into action had it not
been for `Ally Sloper,' our cockatoo, who just then came hopping down
the garden-path from the scullery, where he had been having a rare
carrying-on with the cat, the rum bird as soon as he caught sight of me
flying up on the table and catching hold of the end of father's
favourite churchwarden with his claw.

"Say-rah!" he shouted out in the very tones of father's voice, so that I
could almost fancy he were there sitting alongside of me. "Blest if I
don't have a pipe!"

That settled the matter.

The next moment I had taken the pipe from `Ally Sloper's' reluctant
claw; and, filling it carefully, poking down the tobacco with the end of
my finger just as father used to do, I struck a match and started
smoking.

I can't say I absolutely liked it at first, the strong narcotic, bitter
taste of the tobacco, combined with the smell, making me feel rather
giddy; while a gulp of smoke which went the wrong way caused me to
cough.

But, I stuck at it all the same, feeling that now at last I was on the
highroad to being a man, just like those able-bodied seamen belonging to
our ship who used to enjoy `blowing their cloud,' as they called it, of
an evening on board the _Saint Vincent_ when work was done for the day.

My complacency, too, was heightened by Jenny coming out presently, and
the admiration she expressed at my dignified attitude under the
mulberry-tree, leaning back in father's armchair, and smoking his very
own churchwarden.

"Good gracious me, Tom!" she exclaimed; Jack the thrush calling out
"Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!" at sight of her, as he always did. "Why,
you're just like daddy!"

This made me feel proud, I can tell you; though old `Ally Sloper' didn't
appear to like my p