The parting, which had been agony to his father and mother, he was too young to feel; indeed the moment itself passed by without his being conscious of it.
They took him on board the ship, and, after a time, gave him a hammer and some nails to play with.

These had always been to him a supreme delight, and while he hammered away, Mr.and Mrs.Williams, denying themselves, for the child's sake, even one more tearful embrace, went ashore in the boat and left him.

It was not till the ship sailed that he was told he would not see them again for a long, long time.

Poor child, his tears and cries were wild when he first understood it; but the sorrows of four years old are very transient, and before a week was over, little Eric felt almost reconciled to his position, and had become the universal pet and plaything of every one on board, from Captain Broadland down to the cabin boy, with whom he very soon struck up an acquaintance.

Yet twice a day at least, he would shed a tear, as he lisped his little prayer, kneeling at Mrs.Munro's knee, and asked God "to bless his dear dear father and mother, and make him a good boy." When Eric arrived in England, he was intrusted to the care of a widowed aunt, whose daughter, Fanny, had the main charge of his early teaching.
At first, the wayward little Indian seemed likely to form no accession to the quiet household, but he soon became its brightest ornament and pride.