, 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 passed 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 fi