There was not, I repeat, a more cheery, kind-hearted little woman in all Portsmouth, in spite of her large family, in spite of the loss of her husband, in spite of her poverty, than was Mrs Sunnyside; and this was just because God had given her a kind, happy heart, and she trusted in God, and knew that He loved her, and would not fail in any one of His promises.  Had she not done that, she would soon have broken down.

“Well, Mrs Sunnyside, and how goes the world with you; and how is Bill?” said a gentleman, one day, coming up to the stall, where she sat knitting assiduously.

“Bill is at work, as he always is, and God has given health to those of my children who are spared, sir,” said the widow, continuing her knitting, and only just glancing up at the gentleman’s face.  She then added, “I beg your pardon, sir, maybe I ought to know you, but you will excuse me when I say I don’t.”

“Very likely not,” answered the gentleman, “yet I rather think I was a frequent customer of yours in former days, when I wore a midshipman’s uniform.  My business, however, is with your son Bill.  He is my acquaintance.  Tell me, Mrs Sunnyside, would you wish your boy to go to sea on board a man-of-war, with a captain who would keep an eye upon him, and give him a helping hand, if he proved himself worthy of it?”

Mrs Sunnyside did not answer at once.  She went on knitting very slowly, though.

“Oh, sir!  It would be a sore trial to part from Bill.  He is the bright, cheering light of our little home.  Yet the lad is fit for more than he is now doing; and I would be thankful, very thankful, if I thought he was with a kind, just captain, who would do as you say; but I would rather let Bill answer for himself.”

“Well, Mrs Sunnyside, the truth is, I have asked Bill, and he told me that he should like to go to sea.  He thinks he can help you better than by remaining at home.  I must not, however, praise myself too much.  I am Captain Trevelyan.  I command the Lilly sloop-of-war; and if Bill still wishes, as he did the other day, to go to sea, I will take him, and honestly look after him, and forward his true interests as far as justice to others will allow.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you!” exclaimed Mrs Sunnyside.  “If Bill wants to go, I will not say him nay; for I am sure you will do what you say, and a mother’s prayers will be offered up for you and him every morning and night of my life.  You see, sir, when I sit out here, I can often be thinking of you; and if anything does happen to you or Bill, I am sure it won’t be for want of praying, nor for want of God’s love; but just because He sees it’s best.”

“Have you taught Bill to hold these sentiments?” asked the gentleman.

“Well, sir, I know he thinks and does just as I think and do.”

“Then, Mrs Sunnyside, I shall be very glad to have him with me.  He will be one on whom I can depend on a pinch, and I shall like to think, when I am far away, that you are remembering me and him in your prayers, while you sit out here selling your apples.  And here, Mrs Sunnyside, Bill’s outfit, I know, is not very first-rate; take these three guineas, and spend them as you think best.  You know as well as I do what he wants.  And here is ten shillings in addition, just to put a little lining into Bill’s and his brothers’ and sisters’ insides.  A good meal or two will cheer you all up, and make things look brighter when Bill is going away.  No thanks now; we understand each other, Mrs Sunnyside.  When Bill is ready, he can come on board the Lilly to-morrow, or next day; and ask for Mr Barker, the first lieutenant, to whom he can present this card.  Now good-bye, Mrs Sunnyside, and I hope, when the ship is paid off three or four years hence, you will see Bill grown into a fine, big, strapping young seaman.”

Saying this, Captain Trevelyan hurried away down the street.

“God bless you, sir!  God bless you!” exclaimed Mrs Sunnyside, almost bursting into tears, for her feelings of gratitude overcame her.

That afternoon she had a wonderfully brisk sale for her apples, and was able to leave her post at an earlier hour than usual.  She almost ran, in her eagerness to get home.  Bill was out, but she hurried forth again to a slop-shop with which she was well acquainted.  The shopmaster knew her.  She felt sure he would treat her fairly, when she told him the state of the case.  She knew Bill’s height and width to the eighth of an inch.  The great object was to get the things big enough.  With a big bundle under her arm, she trudged home again, full of joy one moment at the thoughts of how happy his good luck would make him, and then ready to cry when she remembered that he would have to go away from her, and that for three, perhaps four years, or even more, she might not again see his bright, ruddy, smiling face; for, somehow or other, it was ruddy even when he was hungry.

“Who are all those things for, mother?” exclaimed Bill, with a look of surprise, as he came into the room and saw them hung up on the chairs and foot of the bed.

Mrs Sunnyside told him.  At first, he could not speak.  He used to long very much to go to sea; but now the reality had come suddenly upon him.  When his brothers and sisters came in, they insisted on his putting on his new clothes.  The bustle and talking revived him somewhat.

“I must go and have a wash first.  I am not fit for these things,” he answered, looking at his dirty clothes and hands; and out he rushed to the pump in the back yard, where he was wont to perform his ablutions.  He returned for a piece of soap, however.

“I am going to do it right well,” he said, “while I am about it.”

He came back in about ten minutes, looking thoroughly fresh and clean.  In the meantime, his mother and sister had laid the table for supper.  It was not a very grand one, but more than usually abundant.  There were hot sausages and toast, and maybe butter, or what did duty for butter, for it was very, very white, and tea, and some milk in a cream-jug.

“Well, I do feel as if I had been and done it right well!” exclaimed Bill, as he stood in a blue check shirt which his mother had sent out to him to put on after he had washed.

“Now, Bill, do try this on,” she said, handing him a pair of trousers.  They fitted nicely round the waist; no braces were needed.  Then she made him put his arms into the jacket, and fasten a black silk handkerchief round his neck with a sailor’s knot.  And then his sister came behind, and clapped on a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, with a long ribbon round it, hanging down on one side.

“There!  There!  How well he does look!”

“Bill, you do, darling!” exclaimed his mother.  “Every inch a sailor.  Bless you, Bill!” His brothers and sisters made some of these remarks, and many others; and came round, taking him by the hand, or patting him on the back, and Bill stood by smiling and well pleased.  He had never in his life been so nicely dressed.  Then they brought him a pair of low shoes.  He thought them rather incumbrances, but he put them on for the honour of the thing; and they had broad ribbon bows in front, and did look very natty, to be sure.

In their eagerness they almost forgot the sausages, which were somewhat overdone burnt all on one side; but that did not matter much, and at length they all sat down, and while they were laughing and talking, the sausages hissed and spluttered in return, as much as to say, “We are all ready; we wish you would eat us.  You look so merry and happy, and perhaps we shall be merry and happy too.”

Bill at first could not eat much for thinking that at last he was going on board a man-of-war.  No more could his mother, but when the rest began to eat away, he followed their example; and his mother at last managed to get down the remaining sausage, which all her children insisted she should have, Susan giving it a fresh heating up before the fire, for they had a good fire that day.  Many a winter’s evening they had had to go without it, for want of something to burn.  At last there was not as much left as a piece of grease in the dish, nor a piece of bread on the platter, and all the tea was drained to the last drop; and then Bill stood up and thanked God for their good supper.

“And it was a good one!” cried out little Tommy.  “A right good one.  And, Bill, I hope you may get many such aboard ship.”

“Maybe,” said Bill, “but they will not be like this, for there will be none of you there; and after all it’s not the grub, but it’s them that eats it with us that makes it pleasant.”

Bill might have said more but he did not; for a good reason he could not just then trust his voice; so he jumped up and began to dance a hornpipe, though he was not very perfect in the art of dancing.

“Never mind,” he said, “I will learn something more about that too, when I get to sea.”

Bill was up betimes, dressed in his new suit.  “Mother, I would like to carry your basket for you,” he said.  “Maybe it’s the last day I shall be able to do it.”

“No, no, Bill,” she said; “I am not going out this morning, till you are away.  We will go down to the Point, and learn when the Lilly is going out of harbour.  It is better to go on board now than to wait till she gets out to Spithead.”

It was a hard matter for Bill to wish all his brothers and sisters good-bye, and harder still to part from his mother, but he did it in a brave, hearty way.  Old Joe Simmons, who had known him all his life, and known his mother too, for that matter, since she was born, insisted on taking him off.

“The Lilly will be going out of harbour to-day, or to-morrow at farthest, and the sooner you are aboard, my boy, the better,” said old Joe, taking Bill’s bundle from Mrs Sunnyside.  “Come along with me.  And now, Mrs Sunnyside, do you go back, there’s a good woman, now.  I’ll look after your boy, and see him all right aboard.  I know three or four of her crew who shipped from here, and I will speak to one or two of them, and they will put Bill up to what he ought to do, so that he won’t seem like a green-horn when they get to sea.  There’s the captain of the maintop, Jack Windy, son of an old shipmate of mine, and he will stand Bill’s friend, if I ask him.  And there’s little Tommy Rebow, who has been to sea for a year or more; and I’ll just tell him I will break every bone in his body if he don’t behave right to Bill.  So, you see, he will have no lack of friends, Mrs Sunnyside.  There now, good-bye, good-bye!  Bless you, missus!  Bless you!  Don’t fret, now; Bill will be all right.”

These words the old man uttered, as he pushed his wherry from the beach, and pulled up the harbour towards a fine corvette which lay at anchor off Gosport.