across.”

While he spoke the lodge bell rang.

“Who is that?” asked the knight of a footman who entered.

“Tim, the groom boy, sir, as he rode home, picked up a poor one-legged sailor, for he was afraid, he said, to pass the gibbets on the wild heath alone.”

“Who, the sailor or Tim?”

“The groom, sir.”

“I thought it wasn’t the sailor,” said Ned. “An English sailor without legs at all is more than a match for any foreigner with two, and as to being afraid to pass the gibbets, ha! ha! British tars ain’t afraid of men dangling in chains.”

“Silence, Ned. What of this poor sailor?”

“Tim said, sir, as how Master Edward were fond of sailors.”

“So I am; Tim was right.”

“He brought him to the Hall to pass the night.”

“Good boy, Tim,” said Ned. “I owe him a shilling for that. Won’t we pump all the yarns out of him before he goes to-morrow, that’s all?”

“Where is this cripple, then?”

“Tim is stuffing him in the kitchen, sir.”

“Well, when he has done eating, show him up here. Stir up the fire; put more logs on; that will do. And now, Edward, since you are so fond of reading trash about the sea, we will hear what this poor cripple has got to say. I have no doubt when you hear his story of real life, it will help to cure you of your wild and foolish notions about the navy. If you want to go to sea for a time, take a trip in a merchant ship.”

“That is not like the king’s navy, no more than a militia-man at home is like one of the royal guard who has fought against the French, uncle.”

“If you wished to take a trip, my old friend Redgill has half a dozen ships, and will be glad to oblige me.”

“I don’t like the name of Redgill, or his ships either,” said Ned, with a scornful curl of his lip.

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