“That’s enough, Jack, you’ll keep your word; and now, is there any nice thing that I can give you out of my shop, as a keepsake, Jack?”

“Why, no, mother, I thank you—­nothing.”

“Think of something, Jack,” replied old Nanny; “you must have something.”

“Well, then, mother, you know I like reading; will you give me the old book that I was reading when I sat up with you one night?”

“Yes, Jack, and welcome; what book is it?  I don’t know—­I can’t see to read large print without spectacles, and I broke mine many years ago.”

“Why do you not buy another pair?”

“Another pair, Jack?  Spectacles cost money.  I’ve no money; and as I never read, I don’t want spectacles.  Go in and fetch the book; it’s yours and welcome.”

I went in and brought out the Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” which I before mentioned.  “This is it, mother.”

“Yes, yes, I recollect now, it’s a very pretty book.  What’s it about, Jack?  I can’t see myself:  never mind, take it, Jack, and don’t forget your promise.”

I wished old Nanny good-by, and took the book home, which I gave into Virginia’s care, as I wished her to read it.  The next morning, at daybreak, I was summoned; the ship was dropping down the river.  I bade farewell to my little sister, who wept on my shoulder; to my mother, who hardly condescended to answer me.  My father helped me down with my luggage, which was not very heavy; and Anderson and old Ben accompanied us to the landing-steps; and having bid them all farewell, besides many others of my friends who were there, I stepped into the boat sent for me, and quitted Greenwich for my new avocation on the 6th of October, 1799, being then, as Anderson had calculated, precisely thirteen years and seven months old.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

     In which a Story is begun, and not finished, which I think the
     Reader will regret as much as, at the time, I did.

The boat was soon alongside of the West Indiaman, which had been tiding it down Limehouse Reach under her topsails, there being but little wind, and that contrary; but now that she had arrived to Greenwich Reach she had braced up, with her head the right way.  My box was handed up the side, and I made my appearance on the deck soon afterward, with my telescope in my hand.

“Are you the lad for whom the pilot sent the boat?” inquired a man, whom I afterward found to be the second mate.

“Yes,” replied I.

“Well, there he is abaft, in a P-jacket,” said he, walking to the gangway, and directing the men to drop the boat astern.