But he turned from her with a disdainful gesture, only to meet Sara's
anxious, questioning eyes.
"Well, I've shipped," he answered doggedly, "that's what!"
"Morton!" With the word all the strength seemed to go out of her, and
she dropped weakly into a chair.
"Who with?" she asked sternly, for once forgetting even grammatical
rules in her intense dismay.
"With Uncle Jabez Wanamead; he's going out in a week or two, and needs a
boy."
"Morton, you can't go!" a determined look settling over her white face.
"It's a rough, dreadful life! Old Jabez drinks like a fish, and you'll
have to mix his grog a dozen times a day; then you'll have all the dirty
work to do, day and night, and be sent aloft where a cat couldn't cling,
with the boat pitching like a sturgeon, and, as likely as not, be thrown
to the deck with a broken arm, if you're not killed outright. And when
all's said and done, you'll never be anything--_any_thing but a
fisherman!"
"What else was pa?" stoutly. "Anybody'd think you was ashamed of him!"
She hesitated for a moment, and in her excitement began pacing the room,
her face working with contending emotions, while the children sat still
and watched her, awed into silence. At length she stopped before them,
and seated herself in the chair which had always been that father's when
at home, and said, in a voice so sweet and sad that it thrilled even
Molly's careless little soul,--
"No, Morton, never, never ashamed of our father! Instead, I love and
revere him, for he was a true, good man,--'one of nature's noblemen,' as
Miss Prue once said,--but, listen, Morton! It wasn't _because_ he
was a fisherman, but in spite of it; for, though it is a life that makes
men brave, sturdy, fearless, and honest, it makes them also rough,
profane, and careless in life and death; in fact, it develops their
bodies, but not their minds or souls.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120