e of the privateer. Anderson
put a great many inquiries to me, as to my liking my profession, and
also concerning little Bessy, whose history I communicated to him.
After my father and Ben had left, he gave me a great deal of advice, all
of which I trust that I treasured up.

"I hear," said he, "that Spicer has been talking a good deal about you,
and inquiring very often when you were expected to return. Were you
very intimate with that man?"

I replied in the negative, and then narrated the whole history of the
spy-glass, the erasure of the name by Mrs St. Felix, and the
recognition of it by Spicer.

"You did right to leave him in his error relative to where you received
the glass from," said Peter Anderson; "there is some mystery there which
time may unravel, but do not say a word of it to any one, Tom. I am
glad that you have told me, as in case you are away, and anything should
occur, I shall know how to act."

I must acknowledge that I now walked proudly through the streets of
Greenwich. I was no longer Poor Jack, but I was earning my livelihood
in my profession. I had reason to be still prouder when, two days
afterwards, Mr Wilson came to my mother's with the newspaper in his
hand in which there was a long account of the capture of the privateer,
and the conduct of Bramble and of me spoken of in the highest terms.
This he read aloud to my mother and Virginia. I watched my sister. The
tears filled her eyes as she listened, and when Mr Wilson had done, her
arms were round my neck, and her smiles were mixed with her tears, and
sometimes she would laugh as she cried. Oh! how I loved her then, for I
felt how dearly she loved me; even my mother appeared gratified,
although she said nothing, but continued to repair the lace veil upon
which she had been employed. That evening I went with Virginia to call
upon Mrs St. Felix, taking with me the presents I had laid aside for
her. She welcomed me as usual, and accepted what I brought for her
without hesitation and with many thanks.

"Well, Mr Tom," said she, "I'll just put away all your nice little
remembrances, and then I'll tell you that I've heard all about your
behaviour in the fight with the privateer, and I've no doubt but that,
if you continue to go on as you've begun, you will one day have a leg
the less, as your father has before you."

"I hope not," replied I; "two legs are better than one."

"Yes, when you want to run away, that's true. I see now