than private residences, and that
if the post-office was overtaken by the flames, we might lose not only
words of affection, but perhaps enclosures of value. In short, he had
brought our letters, and dearly welcome they were.

I had three; one from my father, one from my mother (with a postscript
by Jem), and a long one from Charlie. I read my father's first; the
others were sure to be tender and chatty, and I could enjoy them at
leisure.

My father's letter was, for him, a wonderful effort of composition, and
it was far kinder than I had expected or deserved. He blamed me; but he
took some blame to himself for our misunderstandings, which he hoped
would never recur. He said (very justly) that if he had spoken harshly,
he had acted as he believed to be best for me. Uncle Henry's office was
an opening many parents envied for their sons, and he had not really
believed that my fancy for the sea was more than a boyish whim. He was
the last man in the world to thwart a real vocation, and no doubt (as my
Uncle Henry and he had agreed, and, thank GOD, they had had a very
pleasant brotherly bit of chat over old times, and a glass of my
grandfather's 1815 port) every Briton had a natural tendency to rule the
waves, and it was stronger in some lads than others, as _Robinson
Crusoe_ alone would prove, a book which my uncle remembered had nearly
cost him his life on a badly-made raft on the mill-dam, when he was a
lad, and which would be read by boys with the real stuff in them, when
half these modern books the Woods littered the farm parlour with were
lighting the fire. My Uncle Henry had come forward in a very gratifying
way. He had mentioned that Benson, an exceedingly intelligent clerk of
his, had spoken of me in the highest terms, and seemed to think that
there was hardly anything in the way of distinction in an adventurous
career which might not be open to me. I was not to be made vain by
this, as Benson appeared to be an affectionate fellow, with a respect
for the family of his employer very rare in these days. It had been a
great comfort to my father, this visit from Uncle Henry. They were both
greyheaded now, and Jem and I were all they had to come after them.
Blood was thicker than water. As to my poor mother--

For a few minutes the letter danced up and down as if writ in water;
then I dried my eyes, and found that she bore up pretty well in hopes of
my return, and that Uncle Henry was communicating by this mail with