By this time, my little "Master Tommy" had grown to be a big boy, and had written over a number of copy books, and brought them home.

They had been shown to the neighbors, had elicited due praise, and were now laid carefully away.

Spending my time between the ship yard and house, I was as often the lone keeper of the latter as of the former.

When my mistress left me in charge of the house, I had a grand time; I got Master Tommy's copy books and a pen and ink, and, in the ample spaces between the lines, I wrote other lines, as nearly like his as possible.

The process was a tedious one, and I ran the risk of getting a flogging for marring the highly prized copy books of the oldest son.