"The doctor can't come. He's away from home, in London," answered the girl. "You'd better run on to Dr Hunt's. Maybe he'll attend on your mother."

I asked where Dr Hunt lived. She told me. His house was some way off, but I found it at last. Again I had to wait for the door to be opened, when, greatly to my disappointment, the maid told me that Dr Hunt had been out all night and might not be at home for an hour or more.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Who then can I get to see poor mother?" I cried out, bursting into tears.

"There's Mr Jones, the apothecary, at the end of the next street.

He'll go to your mother, no doubt," said the maid. "Don't cry, my boy.

Run on now; the first turning to the left. You'll see the red and green globes in his window."

Without stopping to hear more, off I set again. Mr Jones was in his dispensary, giving directions to his a.s.sistant. I told him my errand.

"I'll go presently," he answered. "What's the number?"

Our house had no number, and I could not manage to explain its position clearly enough for his comprehension.

"Then I'll stay, sir, and show you the way," I said.

"Wait a bit, and I'll be ready," he replied.

He kept me waiting, however, a cruel long time, it seemed to me. At last he appeared with his silver-mounted cane in hand, and bade me go on.

"Stop! Stop, boy. I can't move at that rate," he cried out, before we had got far. He was a short stout man, with a bald head and grey hair.

I had to restrain my eagerness, and walked slower till we reached our house. Nancy was looking out at the door for me, wondering I had not returned.

"How is mother?" I asked.

"Very bad, Peter; very bad indeed, I'm afeard," she answered, almost ready to cry. Then seeing Mr Jones stop with me, she continued, "Come in, doctor, come in. You'll try and cure missus, won't you?"

"I'll certainly do my best when I know what is the matter with her,"

answered Mr Jones, as he followed Nancy into the house.

Mary was with mother. I stole in after the doctor, anxious to hear what he would say about her. He made no remark in her presence, however, but when he came out of the room he observed in a low voice to Nancy, "You must keep her quiet. Let there be nothing done to agitate her, tell her husband when he comes in. I'll send some medicine, and pay her another visit in the afternoon."

"But it's about her husband that she's grieving, sir," said Nancy. "He went away to Spithead yesterday morning and has never come back."

"Ah, that's bad," replied Mr Jones. "However, perhaps he will appear before long. If he doesn't, it can't be helped. You must give her the medicines, at all events. I'll write the directions clearly for you."

Poor Nancy had to confess that she could not read. The doctor then tried to impress upon her how and when she was to give the physic.

"You'll remember, and there can be no mistake," he added, as he hurried off.

I fancied that everything now depended on the arrival of the apothecary's stuff, and kept running to the door looking out for the boy who was to bring it. He seemed very long coming. I had gone half-a-dozen times when I caught sight, as I turned my eyes the other way thinking he might have pa.s.sed by, of Tom Swatridge stumping slowly up the street. He stopped when he saw me, and beckoned. He looked very downcast. I observed that he had a straw hat in his hand, and I knew that it was father's.

"How is mother?" he asked, when I got up to him.

"Very bad," I answered, looking at the hat, but afraid to ask questions.

"The news I bring will make her worse, I'm afeard," he said, in a husky voice, as he took my hand. "Peter, you had as good a father as ever lived, but you haven't got one now. A cutter just come in picked up this hat off Saint Helen's, and afterwards an oar and a sprit which both belonged to the wherry. I went out the first thing this morning to the ship your father was to put the gentleman aboard. He had got alongside all right, for I saw the gentleman himself, and he told me that he had watched the wherry after she shoved off till he lost sight of her in a heavy squall of rain. When it cleared off she was nowhere to be seen.

So, Peter, my poor boy, there's no hope, I'm afeard, and we shall never see my old messmate or Ned Dore again."

"Oh, Tom! Tom! You don't mean to say that father's gone!" I cried out.

"I'd sooner have lost another leg than have to say it," answered the old man. "But it must be said notwithstanding, and now how are we to tell mother?"

I could not answer, but kept repeating to myself, "Gone! Gone! Father gone!" as Tom led me on to the house. We met the boy with the physic at the door.

"Let Nancy give her the stuff first," said the old man, thoughtfully; "maybe it will give her strength, and help her to bear the bad news."

Nancy took in the bottles, while Tom and I remained outside. After some time she came out and told Tom that mother wanted to see him. He went in, shaking all over so much that I thought he would have fallen. I followed, when, seeing Mary, I threw my arms round her neck and burst into tears. She guessed what had happened even before I told her. We sat down, holding each other's hands and crying together, while Tom went in to see mother. What he said I do not know, though I am sure he tried to break the news to her as gently as he could. When she saw the hat, which he still held in his hand, she knew that father was lost. She did not go off into fits, as Tom afterwards told me he thought she would, but remained terribly calm, and just bade him describe to her all that he knew.

"I mustn't give in," she said at length, "I have the children to look after, for if I was to go what would become of them?"

"While I'm able to work they shan't want, missus," answered Tom, firmly.

"I know what you'd wish to do, Tom; but there's one thing won't let you: that thing is liquor," said mother.

"Then I'll never touch another drop as long as I live, missus!"

exclaimed Tom. "May G.o.d help me!"

"He will help you, Tom, if you ask Him," said mother; "and I hope that, whether I live or die, you'll keep to that resolution."

I believe that conversation with Tom did mother much good; it took her off from thinking of father. She was still, however, very ill, and had to keep her bed. The doctor came again and again; generally twice a day. He of course had to be paid, and a good deal too. There was nothing coming in, and poor mother became more and more anxious to get out and attend to her business. The doctor warned her that she would go at great risk--indeed, that she was not fit to leave her bed. "She had no money left to pay for food and rent and the doctor's bill," she answered, and go she must. Though she had no money, she had, however, ample credit to stock her b.u.mboat.

Very unwillingly Nancy a.s.sisted her to, dress. Out she would go, taking me with her to lay in a stock of the articles she required. People remarked on her changed looks, and some did not even know her. She acknowledged that she was very tired when we got home, but declared that she should be the better for going on the water.

The next morning old Tom had his boat ready. "I do wish, missus, that you'd stayed at home a few days longer," he remarked, looking at her.

"Howsomedever, as you've come, I hopes you'll just take what I say kindly, and not be from home longer than you can help. There's dirty weather coming up from the south-west."

Tom was right. We had two ships to visit. Before we got alongside the second down came the rain. But mother would go on, and consequently got wet through. Tom was very unhappy, but she said that she had done a good trade, and that no harm would come of it. Unhappily she was mistaken; that night she was taken very ill--worse than before. I fetched the doctor; he shook his head and said he wouldn't answer for what might happen. Faithful Nancy was half distracted. Poor mother got worse and worse. At last one day she beckoned with her pale hand to Mary and me to come to her bedside.

"I know that I am going to be taken from you, my dears," she said, in a low voice, for she could not speak loud. "I want you to promise me to be true to each other, to do your duty in G.o.d's sight, and always to ask Him to help you."

"I do, mother--I do promise," said Mary, the tears dropping from her eyes.

She could scarcely speak for sobbing.

"I promise, too, mother, that I do!" I exclaimed, in a firmer voice; and I sincerely intended to fulfil my promise.

Mother was holding our hands in hers. She said much more to us, anxious to give us all the advice in her power. Nancy came in with her medicine, after which she rallied, and bade us go to bed.

I was awakened early in the morning by hearing Nancy cry out, "Run for the doctor, Peter! Run for the doctor! Missus is taken worse."

I slipped into my clothes, and was off like a shot, without asking a question, or even looking into mother's room.

I rang the night-bell, for no one was up. At last the servant opened the door, and said she would call her master.

Mr Jones soon appeared. He had been paid regularly, and when he saw me he was the more ready to come. Eager as I was to get back, I did not like to run ahead of him; and, to do him justice, he exerted himself to walk as fast as his breath would allow him.