see what he thinks about it."

"Well, George, my lad," the old salt said when the boy questioned him
on the point, "it's like this. It's not impossible we may get a
Frenchy down on us. But we shan't strike our colours if there's the
least chance of doing anything by a bit of fighting. The master's a
man of peace, but between you and me"--the old fellow sank his voice
to a whisper--"I've got stowed away, unbeknown to him, four tidy
little guns; real beauties they are, if small. You shall help me to
use 'em on the Mounseers, if they won't leave us alone."

To a lad of George Fairburn's stamp such a prospect was glorious.
"I'm quite ready to go, mother," he announced, "on the brig's very next
trip." Mother and father made no reply, but the former turned away to
hide her tears. The lad must go and begin his new life. For a few days
all was bustle and preparation, George in the seventh heaven of
delight. The long voyage in a grimy and uncomfortable collier had no
terrors for him; he was too much accustomed to coal dust for that. And
was there not a chance that before the Thames was reached he might see
a brush with a Frenchman?

The last evening at home for him came, and he took a stroll to get a
final look at the familiar surroundings. It was now the very heart of
summer, the weather glorious: could any boy be sad at such a time,
even though there was before him the parting from home, from an
indulgent and much-loved mother, from a just and honourable as well as
affectionate father? George whistled and sang as he wandered across
the fields, careless whither his footsteps led him.

As fate would have it, he was proceeding generally in the direction of