One hot day in the month of June, a poor sunburnt lame sailor, with but one leg, was going along the road, when his crutch broke in half, and he was forced to crawl on his hands and knees to the side of the road, and sit down to wait till some coach or cart came by, whose driver he would ask to take him up. The first that passed that way was a stage coach, but the man who drove it was a surly fellow, and he would not help the sailor, as he thought he should not be paid for it.

Soon after this the tired sailor fell fast asleep upon the ground, and though a thick shower of rain came on, yet still he slept: for sailors when on board their ships have to bear all sorts of weather.

When the wind blows, the waves of the sea often dash over the deck of the vessel and wet the poor men to the skin while they are pulling the ropes and shifting the sails.

When the lame sailor awoke he found a boy’s coat and waistcoat laid on his head and shoulders, to keep him from being wet; and the boy sat by, in his shirt, trying to mend the broken crutch with two pieces of wood and some strong twine. ‘My good lad,’ said the sailor, ’why did you pull off your own clothes to keep me from being wet?’ ‘O,’ said he, ’I do not mind the rain, but I thought the large drops that fell on your face would awake you, and you must be sadly tired to sleep so sound upon the bare ground. See, I have almost mended your crutch, which I found broke; and if you can lean on me, and cross yonder field to my uncle’s farmhouse, I am sure he will get you a new crutch. Pray, do try to go there. I wish I was tall enough to carry you on my back.’

The sailor looked at him with tears in his eyes, and said, ’When I went to sea five years ago, I left a boy behind me, and if I should now find him such a good fellow as you seem to be, I shall be as happy as the day is long, though I have lost my leg and must go on crutches all the rest of my life.’

‘What was your son’s name?’ the boy asked.

‘Tom White,’ said the sailor, ‘and my name is John White.’

When the boy heard these names he jumped up, threw his arms round the sailor’s neck, and said, ’My dear, dear father, I am Tom White, your own little boy.’

How great was the sailor’s joy thus to meet his own child, and to find him so good to those who wanted help! Tom had been taken care of by his uncle while his father was at sea, and the sunburnt, lame sailor found a happy home in the farmhouse of his brother; and though he had now a new crutch, he kept the broken one as long as he lived, and showed it to all strangers who came to the farm, as a proof of the kind heart of his dear son Tom.