ng on to father at Budmouth.'

'Ah!--I know your father,' cried the trumpet-major, 'old James Cornick.'

It was the man who had brought Anne in his lerret from Portland Bill.

'And Bob hasn't got a scratch?' said the miller.

'Not a scratch,' said Cornick.

Loveday then bustled off to draw the visitor something to drink. Anne
Garland, with a glowing blush on her face, had gone to the back part of
the room, where she was the very embodiment of sweet content as she
slightly swayed herself without speaking. A little tide of happiness
seemed to ebb and flow through her in listening to the sailor's words,
moving her figure with it. The seaman and John went on conversing.

'Bob had a good deal to do with barricading the hawse-holes afore we were
in action, and the Adm'l and Cap'n both were very much pleased at how
'twas done. When the Adm'l went up the quarter-deck ladder, Cap'n Hardy
said a word or two to Bob, but what it was I don't know, for I was
quartered at a gun some ways off. However, Bob saw the Adm'l stagger
when 'a was wownded, and was one of the men who carried him to the
cockpit. After that he and some other lads jumped aboard the French
ship, and I believe they was in her when she struck her flag. What 'a
did next I can't say, for the wind had dropped, and the smoke was like a
cloud. But 'a got a good deal talked about; and they say there's
promotion in store for'n.'

At this point in the story Jim Cornick stopped to drink, and a low
unconscious humming came from Anne in her distant corner; the faint
melody continued more or less when the conversation between the sailor
and the Lovedays was renewed.

'We heard afore that the Victory was near knocked to pieces,' said the
miller.

'Knocked to pieces? You'd say so if so be you could see her! Gad, her
sides be battered like an old penny piece; the shot be still sticking in
her wales, and her sails be like so many clap-nets: we have run all the
way home under jury topmasts; and as for her decks, you may swab wi' hot
water, and you may swab wi' cold, but there's the blood-stains, and there
they'll bide. . . . The Cap'n had a narrow escape, like many o' the
rest--a shot shaved his ankle like a razor. You should have seen that
man's face in the het o' battle, his features were as if they'd been cast
in steel.'

'We rather expected a letter from Bob before this.'

'Well,' said Jim Cornick, with a smile of toleration, 'you must make
allowances. T