"No; I know it's not. But, you see, I got a letter this afternoon
from Jack Harris, to tell me our ship sails on Tuesday next; and
it's long since I promised my uncle (my mother's brother, him that
lives at Kirk-Christ, beyond Ramsay, in the Isle of Man) that I'd go
and see him and his, this time of coming ashore. I must go. I'm
sorry enough; but I mustn't slight poor mother's friends. I must
go. Don't try to keep me," said he, evidently fearing the strength
of his own resolution, if hard pressed by entreaty.

"I'm not a-going, Will. I dare say you're right; only I can't help
feeling sorry you're going away. It seems so flat to be left
behind. When do you go?"

"To-night. I shan't see you again."

"To-night! and you go to Liverpool! Maybe you and father will go
together. He's going to Glasgow, by way of Liverpool."

"No! I'm walking; and I don't think your father will be up to
walking."

"Well! and why on earth are you walking? You can get by railway for
three-and-sixpence."

"Ay, but Mary! (thou mustn't let out what I'm going to tell thee) I
haven't got three shillings, no, nor even a sixpence left, at least,
not here; before I came I gave my landlady enough to carry me to the
island and back, and maybe a trifle for presents, and I brought the
rest here; and it's all gone but this," jingling a few coppers in
his hand.