as she perceived that her mother was unwell, and
as she smelt them she gradually recovered. At last she inquired how my
father looked, and what he said.

I told her that he had lost his leg, and had been sent as a pensioner to
the hospital; that he had looked very well, and that he had told me to
say that "he was in a perfect good humour, and it would be her fault if
she put him out of it; and that if she did--"

"Well, what then?" inquired my mother.

"Oh, the _tail_--that's all."

At the mention of the tail my mother very nearly went off in a swoon--
her head fell back, and I heard her mutter, "So vulgar! so ungenteel!"
However, she recovered herself, and appeared to be for some time in deep
thought. At last she rose up, ordered me to fetch something extra for
supper, and recommenced her ironing.

As soon as I had executed her commission I went to the hospital, where I
found my father, who with the other men had just been dismissed. He
accompanied me to my mother, shook hands with her very good-humouredly,
kissed Virginia, whom he took on his knee, praised the supper, drank
only one pot of porter, and then returned to the hospital, to sleep in
the cabin which had been allotted to him in the Warriors' Ward, of which
Anderson was the boatswain. My mother, although not very gracious, was
much subdued, and for a few days everything went on very comfortably;
but my mother's temper could not be long restrained. Displeased at
something which she considered as very vulgar, she ventured to assail my
father as before, concluding her tirade as usual, with "There--now
you're vexed!"

My father looked at her very sternly: at last he said, "You're just
right--I am vexed; and whenever you tell me so in future, I'll prove
that it's no lie." He then rose, stumped upstairs to my room, in which
he had deposited his sea-chest, and soon made his appearance with the
formidable and never-to-be-forgotten tail in his hand. "Mistress," said
he, as my mother retreated, "you said, `Now you're vexed' to me just
now. I ask you again, am I vexed, or am I not?" and my father
flourished the tail over his head.

My mother looked at the strange weapon: the remembrance of the past was
too painful; she was conquered by her fear.

"Oh, no," cried she, falling on her knees. "You're not vexed--indeed
you are not."

"You're quite sure of that?" responded my father authoritatively, as he
advanced towards her.

"Oh! yes, yes," cried my m