Little By Little | Page 2

then at Thomas.
"There's no ballast in her," said he.
"Put some rocks in, then."
"I think it's rather dangerous, and I don't believe your mother would
agree to have you go out in a boat in such a blow as this."
"My mother! Humph! Let me tell you I'm not tied to my mother's apron
string. I think I'm old enough to have a will of my 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