TWO WAYS OF
seen him eat his supper, they begin to question him about his adventures, more for the pleasure of hearing him talk than any curiosity.
'Adventures!' says the boy, seated between his father and mother on a sofa. 'Why, ma, I did write you an account of the voyage, and there's nothing else to tell. Nothing happened to-day—at least nothing particular.'
'You came by the coach we told you of?' asks his father.
'O yes, papa; and when we had got about twenty miles, there came up a beggar, while we changed horses, and I threw down (as I thought) a shilling, but, as it fell, I saw it was a sovereign. She was very honest, and showed me what it was, but I didn't ta'ke it back, for you know, mamma, it's a long time since I gave anything to anybody.'
'Very true, my boy,' his mother answers; 'but you should not be careless with your money; and few beggars are worthy objects of charity.'
'I suppose you got down at the cross-roads?' says his elder brother.
'Yes, and went through the wood. I should have been here sooner if I hadn't lost my way there.'
'Lost your way!' says his mother, alarmed. 'My dear boy, you should not have left the path at dusk.'
'O, ma,' says the little midshipman, with a smile, 'you're always thinking we're in danger. If you could see me sometimes sitting at the jib-boom end, or across the main-top-mast cross-trees, you would be frightened. But what danger can there be in a wood?'
'Well, my boy,' she answers, 'I don't wish to be
