"Oh, Anson, Anson!" she cried.

"Tut, 'tis but the bone of my leg," said he, taking his knee between
his hands and lifting it round. "I got it broke in the Bay, but the
surgeon has fished it and spliced it, though it's a bit crank yet.
Why, bless her kindly heart, if I haven't turned her from pink to
white. You can see for yourself that it's nothing."

He sprang out as he spoke, and with one leg and a staff he hopped
swiftly up the path, and under the laurel-bordered motto, and so
over his own threshold for the first time for five years. When the
post-boy and I had carried up the sea-chest and the two canvas bags,
there he was sitting in his armchair by the window in his old
weather-stained blue coat. My mother was weeping over his poor leg,
and he patting her hair with one brown hand. His other he threw
round my waist, and drew me to the side of his chair.

"Now that we have peace, I can lie up and refit until King George
needs me again," said he. "'Twas a carronade that came adrift in
the Bay when it was blowing a top-gallant breeze with a beam sea.
Ere we could make it fast it had me jammed against the mast. Well,
well," he added, looking round at the walls of the room, "here are
all my old curios, the same as ever: the narwhal's horn from the
Arctic, and the blowfish from the Moluccas, and the paddles from
Fiji, and the picture of the Ca Ira with Lord Hotham in chase. And
here you are, Mary, and you also, Roddy, and good luck to the
carronade which has sent me into so snug a harbour without fear of
sailing orders."