me.
Ye'll be a man yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan."

Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little body
into his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise a
soothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long,
it began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village,
with his face black and blue, and swelled and covered with blood, while
Bob Croaker and his companions returned to the school.

The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficient
to enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderful
adventures and stories of foreign lands, that set Martin's heart on fire
with desire to go to sea,--a desire which was by no means new to him, and
which recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small sea-port
of Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his native
village. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin should be
doing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if he would
join his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in want of an
active lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler sighed
deeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to sea, he
did not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let him go.

Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should pay
the sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more about
foreign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another attempt
to induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his going to sea.

CHAPTER IV

A LESSON TO ALL STOCKING-KNITTERS--MARTIN'S PROSPECTS BEGIN TO OPEN UP

In the small sea-port of Bilton, before mentioned, there dwelt an old and
wealthy merchant and ship-owner, who devoted a small portion of his time
to business, and a very large portion of it to what is usually termed
"doing good," This old gentleman was short, and stout, and rosy, and
bald, and active, and sharp as a needle.

In the short time that Mr. Arthur Jollyboy devoted to business, he
accomplished as much as most men do in the course of a long day. There
was not a benevolent society in the town, of which Arthur Jollyboy,
Esquire, of the Old Hulk (as he styled his cottage), was not a member,
director, secretary, and treasurer, all in one, and all at once! If it
had been possible for man to be ubiquitous, Mr. Jollyboy woul