Mrs. Jernam, as she was called by her neighbours, in right of her sixty
years of age, was sitting by the window when her nephew opened the
little garden-gate: but she had opened the door before he could knock,
and was standing on the threshold ready to embrace him.
"My boy," she exclaimed, "I have been looking for you so long!"
That day was given up to pleasant talk between the aunt and nephew. She
was so anxious to hear his adventures, and he was so willing to tell
them. He sat before the fire smoking, while Susan Jernam's busy fingers
plied her knitting-needles, and relating his hair-breadth escapes and
perils between the puffs of blue smoke.
The captain was regaled with an excellent dinner, and a bottle of wine
of his own importation. After dinner, he strolled out into the village,
saw his old friends and acquaintances, and talked over old times.
Altogether his first day at Allanbay passed very pleasantly.
The second day at Allanbay, however, hung heavily on the captain's
hands. He had told all his adventures; he had seen all his old
acquaintances. The face of the ballad-singer haunted him perpetually;
and he spent the best part of the day leaning over the garden-gate and
smoking. Mrs. Jernam was not offended by her nephew's conduct.
"Ah! my boy," she said, smiling fondly on her handsome kinsman, "it's
fortunate Providence made you a sailor, for you'd have been ill-fitted
for any but a roving life.
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