NINTH CHAPTER


I was never sent back to school, and I heard that Martin, by order of
the butcher, was publicly expelled. This was a cause of distress to our
mothers, who thought the future of our lives had been permanently
darkened, but I cannot say that it ever stood between us and our
sunshine. On the contrary it occurred that--Aunt Bridget having washed
her hands of me, and Martin's father being unable to make up his mind
what to do with him--we found ourselves for some time at large and were
nothing loth to take advantage of our liberty, until a day came which
brought a great disaster.

One morning I found Martin with old Tommy the Mate in his potting-shed,
deep in the discussion of their usual subject--the perils and pains of
Arctic exploration, when you have little food in your wallet and not too
much in your stomach.

"But you has lots of things when you gets there--hams and flitches and
oranges and things--hasn't you?" said Martin.

"Never a ha'p'orth," said Tommy. "Nothing but glory. You just takes your
Alping stock and your sleeping sack and your bit o' biscuit and away you
go over crevaxes deeper nor Martha's gullet and mountains higher nor
Mount Blank and never think o' nothing but doing something that nobody's
never done before. My goodness, yes, boy, that's the way of it when
you're out asploring. 'Glory's waiting for me' says you, and on you go."

At that great word I saw Martin's blue eyes glisten like the sea when
the sun is shining on it; and then, seeing me for the first time, he