The History of Little Peter, the Ship Boy | Page 2

where his widowed mother lived. He made love to Mary Field, and won her heart, unhappily before she had ascertained his principles and character. To her simple mind, ignorant as she was of the world, he appeared all that she could desire. As he attended church with her, and behaved with propriety and apparent devotion, she supposed him to be religious, and before he went away to rejoin his ship she promised, with her father's permission, to be his wife on his return.
Soon afterwards Simon Field, who had for some time been ailing, followed his wife and children to the grave, and Mary became the owner of the little cottage with its acre of ground. Though she had many suitors, she remained faithful to Jack Gray. Nearly three years had passed away before he returned. She then fulfilled her promise and married him, but before long she could not help confessing to herself that he had changed for the worse. Instead of being the quiet, well-behaved young seaman he had before appeared, he was noisy and boisterous, and more than once got into a broil at the public-house in the hamlet; still, as he was kind and affectionate to her, her love in no way diminished. He laughingly replied to her when she entreated him to be more circumspect in his conduct:
"Why, old girl, I am quiet as a lamb compared to what I am afloat. They call me on board `roaring Jack Gray,' and roar I can, I tell you, when I am doing duty as boatswain's mate."
Jack Gray, who would not look for employment on shore, in spite of Mary's entreaties that he would do so, determined when the greater part of his pay and his prize-money had been expended, again to go afloat.
Mary's home was certainly quieter when he was gone, though she would willingly have detained him. She had, however, enough to occupy her in looking after her new-born child, little Peter, who, when his father next came home from sea, had grown into a fine, sturdy boy.
The navy was at this time reduced, and "roaring Jack Gray," who soon grew tired of a life on shore, had to seek for employment in the merchant service. All Mary could hear of him was that he had gone away on a long voyage to foreign parts. The news at length came that the ship he had sailed in had been lost, and that all the crew had perished. For some time she lived on in hopes that her husband had escaped, and might some day return. Not without difficulty was she at length persuaded by her friends that she was really a widow.
While her husband was in the navy, she had received a portion of his pay--now she had to depend entirely on her own exertions for the support of herself and little Peter. On her child she devoted all her care and attention, and brought him up faithfully in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and when he did wrong corrected him carefully and wisely. She had taught him especially to love the Book of books, and at an early age little Peter could read fluently and well. When she fell ill he repaid her loving care with the most tender devotion.
"Mother, shall I read to you?" he asked, as he took his accustomed seat by her side.
"Do, my boy," she answered, taking a small strongly-bound Bible, carefully secured in a leathern case, from under her pillow. "I have been trying to do so, but my eyes are dim, and I could not see the print; but, praised be God, I can remember parts, and I have been repeating to myself our merciful Father's blessed promises to us His children."
"That's true, mother," said Peter, opening the book at the third chapter of Saint John's Gospel.
"`God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved;'" and Peter read on to the end of the chapter.
"Shall I read more, mother?" he asked.
"Read, read," she whispered, "for it will soon be too dark."
At length Peter could see to read no more, and closing the book, he put it carefully back into the case.
"Keep it, my child," said his mother, solemnly; "cherish it, and never part with it while you live. Put it in your breast-pocket now; I would like to see it there, next to your heart, where I pray its truths may find a firm lodgment. It was a gift to me from my dear young mistress on her deathbed. She had intended it for her own child, and she charged