At last Palmer came back, with his arms full of things he had picked up. "Couldn't see a sign of anybody," he declared. "They have left the vicinity entirely, I calculate."
"I saw some of them," answered the young sailor, and told what he had seen. Palmer nodded gravely.
"It must have been our crowd. Well, we can't follow them,—at least not now,—so we must do the next best thing. I struck a bit of luck, boy,—some meat and rice, and onions and hardtack. We'll have a fair dinner, after all."
The meal was easily prepared, Palmer making a stew such as sailors like, and Walter was not backward in disposing of his share. The stew strengthened the lad, and he sat up for several hours afterward.
"I was so afraid you wouldn't come back—that something might happen to you," he said, while eating.
"Avast, lad, do you think I would desert one as did so much for me? No; Bob Palmer ain't that sort, and never was!"
"Then you will stick by me?"
"To the end, lad, and there's my hand on it." And the tar shoved out his lean fingers, which Walter grasped warmly. The touch was an honest one
