“Who calls me father?” replied he, looking at me.  “Why, you don’t mean to say that you’re my boy Tom?”

“Yes, indeed!” said I.

“Ah! yes—­I recollect your smile now.  Why, what a big fellow you’ve grown!”

“It’s four years since you left, father.”

“Well!  I suppose it is, since you say so,” replied he, taking me by the arm, and stumping a little to one side, when he said in a low tone, “I say, Jack, what became of the old woman?  Did I settle her?”

“Oh, no,” replied I, laughing, “she was only shamming.”

“Shamming was she?  Well! it’s all the better—­for she has been a little on my conscience, that’s truth.  Shamming?  Heh!  She won’t sham next time, if I fall foul of her.  How does she get on?”

“Oh, very well indeed.”

“And how’s your little sister?  What’s her name—­Jenny lengthened at both ends?  I never could recollect it, though I’ve often thought of her sweet little face.”

“She’s quite well, and as pretty and as good as ever.”

“Well, Tom, my boy, you stood by your father when he was in trouble, and now he’ll stand by you.  How does your mother treat you?”

“We get on pretty well—­not over-fond of each other.”

[Illustration:  JACK’S FATHER LANDING AFTER THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.—­Marryat, Vol X., p. 133.]

“Well, Tom, I’ve only one pin left; but I say,” continued my father, with a wink of his eye, “I haven’t left my tail behind me, ’cause it may be useful, you know.  Now we must all go up to the governor of the hospital for inspection, and I suppose we shall be kept for some time; so you may run home and tell your mother that I’ve come back in a perfect good-humor, and that it will be her fault if she puts me out—­that’s all.”

“I will, father; and then I’ll come to you at the hospital.”

I ran home to communicate the important intelligence to my mother and to Virginia, who had as usual come from school for her dinner.

“Mother,” says I, out of breath, “who do you think has come back?”

“Comeback?” said she. “Back? Not your father?”

“Yes,” says I, “my father.  I just left him.”

My mother turned deadly pale, and dropped the hot iron from her hand, so as to spoil a frilled nightcap belonging to one of her lady customers.  She staggered to a chair, and trembled all over.  I really believe that had she been aware of his being about to return, she would have quitted Greenwich before his arrival; but now it was too late.  Virginia had run for the salts as soon as she perceived that her mother was unwell, and as she smelled them she gradually recovered.  At last she inquired how my father looked and what he said.

I told her that he had lost his leg, and had been sent as a pensioner to the hospital; that he had looked very well, and that he had told me to say that “he was in a perfect good humor, and it would be her fault if she put him out of it; and that if she did—­”