It was the perfect note to strike, Lewrie thought; if he did say so himself. Dear as he loved his wife and children-and he did in spite of his dalliances-sweet as it had been to have them down from the country to Portsmouth while jester had recruited and manned, and as tender and passionate as Alan and Caroline's reunion had been-well, damme if I'm not glad to see the back of 'em, he thought, a touch rueful.

"Hugh!" he called, picking up the lad to bring him eye level again. "You be as good a boy as you can be… consid'rin'. And, I promise you, when you're older… next time I'm home, hey? There'll be all the climbing aloft you want. But not before I say, hear me?"

"I promise, Daddy," Hugh replied. And thank God he'd finally learned how to pronounce his R's. "An' then I'll be a sea officer, just like you\" the boy cried, wriggling with delight.

"That you will," he agreed, setting him down. God's teeth, what'd the boy expect, anyway? Second son, and all? It was naval or military service for him. "And Sewallis?"

"Yes, Father?" his eldest replied, ignored in all the confusion, and almost shrugging into himself as the hands of the after-guard trudged by to stations, as sailors and marines prepared to breast to the capstan bars to hoist anchor. Eyes darting constantly, not out of boyish curiosity, Lewrie was certain, but to see if he would be in the way! There'd been moments of folderol, of high cockalorum between them-but only a few-since he'd been "breeched."

Such a grave li'l man, Lewrie thought, with a trace of sadness, as he knelt by his side. "You make us proud at your school, now, hear me? Mind your mother…"

"I will, sir." Sewallis gulped, tearing up.

"Help make Sophie feel welcome and one of us."

"I will, sir."

"And keep an eye on Hugh. God knows, it takes more than one pair, now, don't it," Alan joshed.

"Good-bye, Father!" Sewallis suddenly wailed, tears flowing for real, and his solemn little face screwed up in pain. He flung himself at Lewrie, who hugged him close. "Wish you didn't have to go!"