"
"Of course you have--the biggest old poacher in the county. He shoots
half your pheasants with his wooden leg by moonlight. What your Chaplain
said to him was entirely profane in the turn of a text of Holy-Writ;
and it shows how our cloth is spoiled by contact with yours"--for the
Admiral was laughing to himself at this old tale, which he would
not produce before young Scudamore, but loved to have out with the
Rector--"and I hope it will be a good warning to you, Squire, to
settle no more old gunners on your property. You must understand, Mr.
Scudamore, that the Admiral makes a sort of Naval Hospital, for all his
old salts, on his own Estates."
"I am sure it is wonderfully kind in him," the young man answered,
bravely, "for the poor old fellows are thrown to the dogs by the
country, when it has disabled them. I have not seen much of the service,
but quite enough to know that, Mr. Twemlow."
"I have seen a great deal, and I say that it is so. And my good friend
knows it as well as I do, and is one of the first to lend a helping
hand. In all such cases he does more than I do, whenever they come
within his knowledge. But let us return to the matter in hand. Here is
a young man, a first-rate sailor, who would have been under my
guardianship, I know, but for--but for sad circumstances. Is he to be
grinding at Virgil and Ovid till all his spirit goes out of him, because
we have patched up a very shabby peace? It can never last long.
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