Part 8 (1/2)

CHAPTER SEVEN.

ENCOUNTER MY NEW UNCLE--AUNT BRETTA'S HOME--HAPPY MEETING--SETTLE AT HOME--A DESCRIPTION OF MY UNCLE--OLD JERRY VINCENT--HIS STORIES--THE SMOKE-WORMS, AND HIS CRUISE ROUND THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

On reaching Portsmouth, I b.u.t.toned my money tight up in my pockets, for, thought I, ”I'll have no land-sharks taking it from me in the way many poor fellows have lost all the profits of their toils.” I had no difficulty in finding my way through the gate under the ramparts to Southsea Common, and then I turned to the left till I reached a number of small, neat little houses. The fine big mansions and great hotels which stand there now were not built in those days. I walked up and down for some time trying to discover the house my aunt lived in from what Miss Rundle had told me, but I could not make up my mind to knock at any door by chance to inquire. At last I saw a stout, fine sailor-like looking man come stumbling along the road on a wooden leg.

I looked at his face. He had a round, good-natured countenance, somewhat weather-beaten, with kind-looking eyes, and a firm mouth, full of fine white teeth.

”You're the man who will give me a civil answer at all events, and maybe help me to find my aunt, so I'll just speak to you,” I thought to myself. ”Please, sir,” said I, stepping up to him, ”can you tell me if a young woman called Bretta Wetherholm lives any way handy here?” He looked at me very hard as I spoke, with some surprise in his countenance. Then I recollected myself; ”that was her name, I mean, sir,” said I; ”it's now Mrs Kelson, I am told. Her husband is Tom Kelson. Yes, that's his name.”

”I think I can show you the house, young man,” said the stranger, casting his eye all over me. ”You are a stranger here.”

”Yes, sir,” said I, ”this is the first time I have been at Portsmouth.

I've been knocking about at sea all my life. There are very few days in which I have set foot in England since I was a little boy.”

”Just paid off from a s.h.i.+p, I suppose.”

”Yes, sir,” said I, ”a few days ago.”

”Ah, I see, come round from Plymouth,” he remarked, stumping on at a pace which kept me at a quick walk.

I always addressed him as sir, for I thought very likely he was a post-captain, or perhaps an admiral. I did not like, therefore, to say that I had just come from Guernsey, as he would at once have guessed that I had been serving on board a privateer, and I knew that many officers did not at all like the calling. I therefore said, ”I beg pardon, sir, but I fear that I am taking you out of your way.”

”Not in the least, young man,” he answered in a good-natured tone.

”Your way is my way.”

”Well, you are indeed a very civil, kind gentleman,” I thought. Then all of a sudden I remembered the land-sharks I had been warned against, but when I looked in his face I felt certain that he was not one of them.

”And so you have heard speak of Tom Kelson,” said he, looking at me.

”Not much, sir,” I answered. ”There's a lady down at Plymouth whom I know, Miss Rundle, who just spoke about him, and told me about my aunt's marriage, and how she didn't quite think--”

”Oh, never mind what Miss Molly Rundle thought,” said he, laughing, as he pushed open the door of a house and walked in. ”You'll find Mrs Kelson in there,” and he pointed to a parlour on one side of the pa.s.sage. ”Here, Bretta, come down; here's a young man come to see you.

Who he is I don't know. He's a friend of Molly Rundle's, that is all I can make out,” I heard my new friend hail at the foot of the stairs.

I found myself in a very pretty, neat little sitting-room, with the picture of a s.h.i.+p over the mantelpiece, and lumps of coral and large sh.e.l.ls, and sh.e.l.l flowers, on it, and bows and arrows, and spears and models of eastern craft, and canoes from the Pacific, and some stuffed birds and snakes, and, indeed, all sorts of curious things arranged in brackets on the walls, or nailed up against them, or filling the shelves of cabinets. Indeed, the room was a perfect museum, only much better arranged than museums generally are. I had some little time to look about me. ”Well, Aunt Bretta is comfortably housed at all events,” I thought to myself.

At last the door opened, and a portly fair dame, with fair hair and a pleasant smile on her countenance, entered the room. ”Who are you inquiring for, young man?” said she, dropping a sort of curtsey.

I looked at her very hard without answering. ”Yes, it must be Aunt Bretta,” I thought. ”But if it is her, she is a good deal changed. And yet I don't know. Those kind eyes and that smile are just the same.

Oh, yes, it is her.”

”Aunt Bretta,” I exclaimed, running towards her; ”don't you know me?

I'm Willand Wetherholm, your nephew!”

”You my nephew! I heard that without doubt he was dead. Yet let me look at you, boy!” she exclaimed, taking both my hands and fixing her eyes on my countenance. ”Yes, you are Willand--you are my own dear boy--welcome, welcome back to life, and to one who loved you as her own son!” And she flung her arms round my neck and burst into tears. ”Oh, Willand, had but dear mother been alive, how it would have done her heart good to see you! She never ceased talking of you, and always felt sure that you would come back when you could.”

I will not describe the scene any farther. I pretty nearly cried too-- indeed I am not certain that I did not, but they were tears of happiness, and not yet entirely of happiness. There was sorrow for one I had lost--regret for my own obstinacy and thoughtlessness, and many other emotions mingled with the satisfaction of finding myself under the roof of one in whom I had the most perfect confidence, who I knew loved me sincerely. I think I have said it before, but if not, I now urge those who are blessed with real friends, to prize the lore their hearts bestow as a jewel above price, which wealth cannot purchase, and which, let them wander the world round, they may never find again.

After my aunt and I had sat a little time, in came the fine old gentleman I had met. I now guessed who he must be. He very quickly understood who I was. ”You are not the first seaman I have known who has been lost for years, and has at last turned up again when he was least expected,” said he; ”but welcome, Willand, I'm very glad to see you, and to own you for my nephew.” He very soon gave evidence of the sincerity of his words, for a kinder, better-hearted man I never met, and I felt thankful that Aunt Bretta had married a man so well worthy of her.

My uncle accompanied me back to the inn where I had left my chest and bag, and we got a porter to carry them to his house; and now, for the first time since I went to sea, I found myself settled with my relations quietly on sh.o.r.e. I had been very happy with the La Mottes, but still they were strangers. My kind aunt never seemed tired of trying to find out what would please me. She had done something to spoil me as a boy-- it appeared as if there was a great probability of her spoiling me as a man. We had much to talk about. I told her of my falling in with the old lady at Plymouth, and of my visit to my grandmother's tomb. I found that Miss Rundle had never written to her, or if she had written, the letter had not reached her.

”I suspect that she was afraid I might answer her letter, and she did not like the idea of having to pay the return postage. It shows that she does not consider my friends.h.i.+p worth ninepence.”