"Grandfather!" exclaimed the child, holding up her work with an

imploring look, "be those stitches too long? If you say so,

grandfather, I will take them all out, because you know."

"They will do very nicely indeed, Conny," replied the old man, with an

approving smile; "and as for you, Master Walter, I wish that your work

was always done as well as your sister's. Bless her! how like her mother

she is!"

"I wish I was like my mother too," said Walter, "for then you would love

me."

"Boys and girl, I love you all, and thank God that, in these bad times,

you are as good as you are! But, Watty, you must never think of the sea;

you were not intended for a sailor, or you would not talk of wind

getting into the stitchings of a topsail, and throwing the ship on her

beam-ends--ha, ha!"

The proud boy turned blushingly away, and began playing with, or rather

teazing, a very old nondescript dog, who was lying comfortably coiled up

on the youngest lad's pinafore, under shelter of the grey stone which

the grandfather used as his seat.

"Wat will be a soldier," said the second boy, whose name was Hugh; "his

godpapa, Sir Walter, says he shall. But you will teach me to be a sailor

before you die, and then I may live to be as great as the great man you

and father talk about, the brave Blake. Oh! how proud I should be if you

could live to see that day," he continued, his bright eyes dancing at

the anticipation of future glory. "And you may, dear grandfather, for

mother says that Crisp is older now for a dog than you are for a man.

Watty, you had better not teaze Crisp, for he has three teeth left."

"Three!" interrupted little Con, whose fine name of Constantia had been

diminished to the familiar appellation--"three! he has four and a half

and a little piece, for I opened his mout and counted them myself."

"When do you mean to speak plain, and be a lady, Miss Con?"

The child looked into her brother's face, and laughed a gleesome laugh,

one of those burstings of a joyous heart that come, we know not how, but

never come after the dancing pulse of youth changes into a measured

time, when we look upon the dial's hand, and note that hours are

passing.

"Grandfather," said Hugh, when the mast was fairly established, and the

rigging properly arranged, "may I call my vessel the 'Firefly?'"




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