Uncertain, Fanny had risen to meet him, but sank down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son’s hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began—“Ha! welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning.” And then he went on at great length with loud inebriated animation, concluding with: “If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, she is one; and there she lays at Spithead, and anybody in England would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the sheer hulk.”

“Ha!” cried William, “that’s just where I should have put her myself. It’s the best berth at Spithead. But here is my sister, sir; here is Fanny,” turning and leading her forward; “it is so dark you do not see her.”

With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her, Mr. Price now received his daughter. Having given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband soon, he seemed very much inclined to forget her again.

Fanny shrunk back to her seat, sadly pained by his language and his smell of spirits. He talked only to his son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warmly interested as he was in that subject, more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny, and her long absence and long journey.

After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained. But there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey’s reports from the kitchen, much hope of any. William determined to go and change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea in comfort afterwards.

As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, about eight and nine years old, rushed in. They were Tom and Charles, just released from school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the Thrush was gone out of harbour.

“And then, did you see that?” Tom was yelling, “I saw him! The sailor leaned over old Mrs. Potts and he sucked her breath away! He looked all like a scarecrow, and his face was brown like a dry apple, and his skin was peeling worse than the deck of an old sloop! And Mrs. Potts, she just keeled over and fell, and the old dog just walked away! I bet his like won’t be found on the Thrush, he sails some dirty old dingy—”