Bobby did not cease to wave his hat to Sam till his little craft disappeared in the darkness.

CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH THE CLOUDS BLOW OVER, AND BOBBY IS HIMSELF AGAIN.

Fortunately for Bobby, the wind began to blow very heavily soon after he went on board of the lumber schooner, so that the captain was too much engaged in working his vessel to ask many questions.  He was short handed, and though our hero was not much of a sailor, he made himself useful to the best of his ability.  Though the wind was heavy, it was not fair; and it was not till the third morning after his parting with Sam Ray that the schooner arrived off Boston Light.  The captain then informed him that, as the tide did not favor him, he might not get up to the city for twenty-four hours; and, if he was in a hurry, he would put him on board a pilot boat which he saw standing up the channel.

“Thank you, captain; you are very kind, but it would give you a great deal of trouble,” said Bobby.

“None at all.  We must wait here till the tide turns; so we have nothing better to do.”

“I should be very glad to get up this morning.”

“You shall, then;” and the captain ordered two men to get out the jolly boat.

“I will pay my passage now, if you please.”

“That is paid.”

“Paid?”

“I should say you had worked your passage.  You have done very well, and I shall not charge you any thing.”

“I expected to pay my passage, captain; but if you think I have done enough to pay it, why, I have nothing to say, only that I am very much obliged to you.”

“You ought to be a sailor, young man; you were cut out for one.”

“I like the sea, though I never saw it till a few weeks since.  But I suppose my mother would not let me go to sea.”

“I suppose not.  Mothers are always afraid of salt water.”

By this time the jolly boat was alongside; and bidding the captain adieu, he jumped into it, and the men pulled him to the pilot boat, which had come up into the wind at the captain’s hail.  Bobby was kindly received on board, and in a couple of hours landed at the wharf in Boston.

With a beating heart he made his way up into Washington Street.  He felt strangely; his cheeks seemed to tingle, for he was aware that the imputation of dishonesty was fastened upon him.  He could not doubt but that the story of his alleged crime had reached the city, and perhaps gone to his friends in Riverdale.  How his poor mother must have wept to think her son was a thief!  No; she never could have thought that. She knew he would not steal, if no one else did.  And Annie Lee—­would she ever smile upon him again?  Would she welcome him to her father’s house so gladly as she had done in the past?  He could bring nothing to establish his innocence but his previous character.  Would not Mr. Bayard frown upon him?  Would not even Ellen be tempted to forget the service he had rendered her?