must stay to look after
her. As father had had no funeral, his old friends wished to show all
the respect in their power to his widow, and a score or more attended,
some carrying the coffin, and others walking two and two behind, with
bits of black crepe round their hats and arms, while Mary and I, and
Nancy and Tom, followed as chief mourners all the way to Kingston
Cemetery. Nancy, with the help of a friend, a poor seamstress, had
managed to make a black frock for Mary and a dress for herself, out of
mother's gown, I suspect. They were not very scientifically cut, but
she had sat up all night stitching at them, which showed her affection
and her desire to do what she considered proper.

Some weeks had passed since mother's death, and we were getting
accustomed to our mode of life. Tom sent Mary to a school near at hand
every morning, and she used to impart the knowledge she obtained to me
in the evening, including sometimes even sewing.

During the time Mary was at school Nancy went out charing, or tending
the neighbours' children, or doing any other odd jobs of which she was
capable, thus gaining enough to support herself, for she declared that
she could not be beholden to the old man for her daily food. I always
went out with Tom in his boat, and I was now big enough to make myself
very useful. He used to make me take the helm when we were sailing, and
by patiently explaining how the wind acted on the canvas, and showing me
the reason of every manoeuvre, soon taught me to manage a boat as well
as any man could do, so that when the wind was light I could go out by
myself without the slightest fear.

"You'll do, Peter; you'll do," said the old man, approvingly, when one
day I had taken the boat out to Spithead alongside a vessel and back, he
sitting on a thwart with his arms folded, and not touching a rope,
though he occasionally peered under the foot of the foresail to see that
I was steering right, and used the boat-hook when we were going
alongside the vessel, and shoving off, which I should have had to do if
he had been steering. "You'll now be able to gain your living, boy, and
support Mary till she's old enough to go out to service, if I'm taken
from you, and that's what I've been aiming at."

Often when going along the Hard a friend would ask him to step into one
of the many publics facing it to take a glass of spirits or beer. "No
thank ye, mate," he would reply; "if I get the taste of one I shall b