Little By Little | Page 2

own. Don't talk to me about my mother," replied Thomas contemptuously. "I'm not a baby."
"Just as you please; but I think it blows too hard to go out."
"Let me have your boat, and I'll go alone then, if you are afraid to go."
"I'm not afraid," answered Paul, stung by these repeated implications upon his courage. "Jump in, and I'll give you enough of it before you get half way to the Point."
Thomas got into the boat, which was anything but a beauty in her shape and appointments. Paul pushed her off the beach upon which she had grounded, and as she receded from the shore, leaped on board of her. Placing an oar at the stern, he sculled her out a short distance from the land, and then shook out the sail. The first flaw of wind that struck it heeled the boat over so far that Thomas leaped with desperate haste up to the windward side.
"Don't be afraid, Tom," said Paul, with a smile. "She has got the wind now."
"Who's afraid?" demanded Thomas.
"I thought you were by the way you jumped."
"Well, the gunnel of your old craft went under."
"Not quite."
"I say it did; and you don't suppose I was going to sit there and be spilled into the drink--do you?" continued Thomas, sharply.
"I won't dispute with you; she heeled over, as a boat always will when she first gets the wind."
"You think you are an old salt, Paul, but you don't know enough to navigate a herring pond."
"Just as you like," replied Paul, whose good nature was proof against the assaults of his companion. "I don't pretend to know much; but I think I understand this old boat pretty well."
"Paul! Paul!" cried a voice from the shore.
"That's my mother," said the young boatman, as he discovered a woman on the beach. "What do you want, mother?"
"Come ashore," replied Mrs. Duncan, whose voice was almost drowned by the noise of the waves as they beat against the boat.
Paul's mother seemed to think she had said enough, for her son was generally a very obedient boy, and she turned to walk up the bluff towards the house. But she knew enough about the management of a boat to perceive that, in this instance, her order was not obeyed.
"Come ashore right off, Paul," she repeated with an emphasis that was calculated to make an impression upon the rebellious party.
"Do you want me, mother?" asked Paul, as he put the boat about, and brought her upon the home tack.
"No, I don't want you; but it blows too hard for you to be out there. You'll capsize, as true as you're alive," replied Mrs. Duncan; and seeing the boat headed towards the shore, she hastened home.
"Are you going to back out, Paul?" demanded Thomas, as the boat came about.
"My mother won't let me go," replied Paul, rather sheepishly, for he was not proof against the derision of his companion.
"Won't let you go!" sneered Thomas.
"You heard what she said."
"I did; my mother would no more dare to say as much as that to me than she would dare to cut my head off. She knows her place better."
Paul was not a little shocked by this unfeeling speech, and could not help seeing that Thomas had not much regard for his mother. For his own part, he loved his mother very much, though he was not exactly willing to confess the fact to a boy who entertained such opinions as those of Thomas Nettle. He had been accustomed to obey his mother for the respect and love he bore her, and it had never before occurred to him that she overstepped the bounds of reason and propriety in presuming to command him. Paul had the reputation of being a good boy, both at home and among the neighbors; but it must not be inferred that he was perfect, that he never disobeyed his father and mother,--though the instances were very rare,--or that he never did what he knew to be wrong. He had his faults and his weaknesses; but for the present I shall let my young reader discover them from what he says and what he does. He was disturbed by the derision of his friend, no less than by his impudent self-possession. He even asked himself why he should be tied to his mother's apron string, as Thomas expressed the subjection of the child to the parent. He was only a year younger than his companion, and he began to question whether it was not about time for him to assert his own independence, and cut the apron string when it pulled too hard upon his inclination.
Paul was the oldest of a family of six children, and was now in his fourteenth year. His father was a journeyman ship carpenter--an honest, temperate, hard-working man,