e dwell
less on my grief than I should have done had I sailed into the harbour
all alone.

"I should like to go and see your little sister and the faithful Nancy,"
he said, "but I must return to the brig as soon as that poor man has
been carried to the hospital, and I have several things to do on shore.
Land me at the Point, you can find your way to the Hard by yourself,
I've no doubt."

"The boat would find her way alone, sir, she's so accustomed to it," I
answered.

We ran in among a number of wherries with people embarking from the
Point or landing at it. The Point, it should be understood by those who
do not know Portsmouth, is a hard shingly beach on the east side, at the
mouth of the harbour, and there was at that time close to it an old
round stone tower, from which an iron chain formerly extended across to
Blockhouse Fort, on the Gosport side, to prevent vessels from coming in
without leave.

"Here, my lad, is my fare," said Mr Harvey, slipping half a guinea into
my hand as he stepped on shore, followed by the seaman; "it will help to
keep Nancy's pot boiling till you can look about you and find friends.
They will appear, depend on it."

Before I could thank him he was away among the motley crowd of persons
thronging the Point. I was thankful that no one asked me for old Tom,
and, shoving out from among the other boats, I quickly ran on to the
Hard.

When I landed the trial came. A waterman had gained an inkling of what
had occurred from one of the crew of the _Lapwings_ boat, and I was soon
surrounded by people asking questions of how it happened.

"I can't tell you more," I answered, at length breaking from them.
"Tom's gone, and brother Jack's gone, and I must go and look after poor
Mary."

It was late by the time I reached home. Nancy had got supper ready on
the table, and Mary had placed old Tom's chair for him in a snug corner
by the fire. They saw that something was the matter, for I couldn't
speak for a minute or more, not knowing how to break the news to them.
At last I said, with a choking voice, pointing to the chair, "He'll
never sit there more!"

Dear me, I thought Mary's and Nancy's hearts would break outright when
they understood what had happened. It was evident how much they loved
the rough old man--I loved him too, but in a different way, I suppose,
for I could not ease my heart by crying; indeed I was thinking about
what Mary and Nancy would do, and of brother Jack's loss.