The house of old Tom Beazeley was on the of Battersea Fields, about a mile-and-a-half from the bridge bearing the same name; the river about twenty yards before it—the green grass behind it, and not a tree within half-a-mile of it. There was nothing in it but its utter loneliness; it was not only lonely, but , for it was upon a of about half-an-acre, between two , which joined at about forty yards from the river, and ran up through the fields, so that the house was at high water upon an island, and at low water was defended by an impassable barrier of mud, so that the advances to it could be made only from the river, where a small hard, edged with posts worn down to the conformation of decayed double-teeth, offered the only means of access. The house itself was one storey high; dark red bricks, and darker tiles upon the roof; windows very scarce and very small, although built long before the damnable tax upon light, for it was probably built in the time of Elizabeth, to judge by the of the style of architecture observable in the chimneys; but it matters very little at what was built a which was rented at only ten pounds per annum. The major part of the said island was stocked with cabbage plants; but on one side there was half a boat set upright, with a patch of green before it. At the time that old Beazeley hired it there was a bridge rudely constructed of old ship , by which you could gain a path which led across the Battersea Fields; but as all the communications of old Tom were by water, and Mrs Beazeley never ventured over the bridge, it was gradually knocked away for firewood, and when it was low-water, one old post, redolent of mud, marked the spot where the bridge had been. The interior was far more . Mrs Beazeley was a clean person and housewife, and every article in the kitchen, which was the first room you entered, was as clean and as bright as industry could make it. There was a parlour also, seldom used; both of the , when they did meet, which was not above a day or two in three weeks, during the time that old Beazeley was in charge of the , preferring comfort to . In this isolated house, upon this isolated spot, did Mrs Beazeley pass a life of most .  
And yet, perhaps there never was a more lively or a more happy woman than Mrs Beazeley, for she was strong and in good health, and always employed. She knew that her husband was following up his on the river, and laying by a provision for their old age, which she herself was adding to it by her own . She had married old Tom long before he had lost his legs, at a time when he was a prime, active sailor, and the best man of the ship. She was a net-maker’s daughter, and had been brought up to the business, at which she was very expert. The most difficult part of the art is that of making large seines for taking sea-fish; and when she had no order for those to complete, the making of casting-nets away her time as soon as her household cares had been disposed of. She made money and husbanded it, not only for herself and her partner, but for her son, young Tom, upon whom she doted. So accustomed was she to work hard and be alone that it was most difficult to say whether she was most pleased or most annoyed when her husband and son made their appearance for a day or two, and the latter was alternately fondled and scolded during the whole of his . Tom, as the reader may suppose from a knowledge of his character, caring about as much for the one as the other.
 
I pulled into the hard, and made fast my boat. There was no one outside the door when I landed; on entering, I found them all seated at the table, and a grand display of fragments, in the shape of herring-bones, etcetera. “Well, Jacob—come at last—thought you had forgot us; piped to breakfast at eight bells—always do, you know,” said old Tom, on my making my appearance.
 
“Have you had your breakfast, Jacob?” said Mrs Beazeley.
 
“No,” replied I; “I was obliged to go up to Mr Turnbull’s, and that detained me.”
 
“No more sodgers, Jacob,” said Tom; “father and I eat them all.”
 
“Have you?” replied Mrs Beazeley, taking two more red herrings out of the cupboard, and putting them on the fire to ; “no, no, master Tom, there’s some for Jacob yet.”
 
“Well, mother, you make nets to some purpose, for you’ve always a fish when it’s wanted.”
 
I despatched my breakfast, and as soon as all had been cleared away by his wife, old Tom, crossing his two timber legs, commenced business, for it appeared, what I was not aware of, that we had met on a sort of council-of-war.
 
“Jacob, sit down by me; old woman, bring yourself to an anchor in the high chair. Tom, sit anywhere, so you sit still.”
 
“And leave my net alone, Tom,” cried his mother, in .—“You see, Jacob, the whole long and short of it is this—I feel my toes more and more, and flannel’s no longer warm. I can’t tide it any longer, and I think it high time to lie up in ordinary and of the old woman. Now, there’s Tom, in the first place, what’s to do with he? I think that I’ll build him a wherry, and as I’m free of the river he can finish his with my name on the boat; but to build him a wherry would be rather a heavy pull for me.”
 
“If you mean to build it yourself, I think it will prove a heavy pull for me,” replied Tom.
 
“Silence, Tom; I built you, and God knows you’re light enough.”
 
“And, Tom, leave my net alone,” cried his mother.
 
“Father made me light-fingered, mother.”
 
“Ay, and light-hearted too, boy,” rejoined the , looking fondly at her son.
 
“Well,” continued old Tom, “supposing that Tom be provided for in that way; then now I comes to myself. I’ve an idea that I can do a good bit of work in patching up boats; for you see I always was a bit of a carpenter, and I know how the builders extortionate the poor watermen when there’s a trifle amiss. Now, if they knew I could do it, they’d all come to me fast enough; but then there’s a puzzle. I’ve been thinking this week how I can make them know it. I can’t put out a board and say, Beazeley, Boat-builder, because I’m no boatbuilder, but still I want a sign.”
 
“Lord, father, haven’t you got one already?” interrupted young Tom; “you’ve half a boat stuck up there, and that means that you’re half a boat-builder.”
 
“Silence, Tom, with your frippery; what do you think. Jacob?”
 
“Could you not say, ‘Boats repaired here?’”
 
“Yes, but that won’t exactly do; they like to employ a builder—and there’s the puzzle.”
 
“Not half so puzzling as this net,” observed Tom, who had taken up the needle, unseen by his mother, and begun to work; “I’ve made only ten stitches, and six of them are long ones.”
 
“Tom, Tom, you good-for-nothing—why don’t you let my net alone?” cried Mrs Beazeley; “now ’twill take me as much time to ten stitches as to have made fifty.”
 
“All right, mother.”
 
“No, Tom, all’s wrong; look at these ?”
 
“Well, then, all’s fair, mother.”
 
“No, all’s , boy; look how it’s .”
 
“Still, I say, all’s fair, mother, for it is but fair to give the fish one or two chances to get away, and that’s just what I’ve done; and now, father, I’ll settle your affair to your own satisfaction, as I have mother’s.”
 
“That will be queer satisfaction, Tom, I guess; but let’s hear what you have to say.”
 
“Then, father, it seems that you’re no boat-builder, but you want people to fancy that you are—a’n’t that the question?”
 
“Why, ’tis something like it, Tom, but I do nobody no harm.”
 
“Certainly not; it’s only the boats which will suffer. Now, get a large board, with ‘Boats built to order, and boats repaired, by Tom Beazeley.’ You know if any man is fool enough to order a boat, that’s his concern; you didn’t say you’re a boat-builder, although you have no objection to try your hand.”
 
“What do you say Jacob?” said old Tom, appealing to me.
 
“I think that Tom has given very good advice, and I would follow it.”
 
“Ah! Tom has a head,” said Mrs Beazeley, fondly. “Tom, let go my net again, will you? What a boy you are! Now touch it again if you dare,” and Mrs Beazeley took up a little from the fire-place and shook it at him.
 
“Tom has a head, indeed,” said young Tom, “but as he has no wish to have it broken, Jacob, lend me your wherry for half-an-hour, and I’ll be off.”
 
I , and Tom, first tossing the cat upon his mother’s back, made his escape, crying:
 
“Lord, Molly, what a fish—”
 
as the animal fixed in its claws to save herself from falling, making Mrs Beazeley roar out and , while old Tom and I could not refrain from laughter.
 
After Tom’s departure the conversation was renewed, and everything was finally arranged between old Tom and his wife, except the building of the wherry, at which the old woman shook her head. The debate would be too long, and not interesting to detail; one part, however, I must make the reader acquainted with. After entering into all the arrangements of the house, Mrs Beazeley took me upstairs to show me the rooms, which were very neat and clean. I came down with her, and old Tom said, “Did the old woman show you the room with the white curtains, Jacob?”
 
“Yes,” replied I, “and a very nice one it is.”
 
“Well, Jacob, there’s nothing sure in this world. You’re well off at present, and ‘leave well alone’ is a good motto; but this, that room is for you when you want it, and everything else we can share with you. It’s offered freely, and you will accept it the same. Is it not, old lady?”
 
“Yes, that it is, Jacob; but may you do better—if not, I’ll be your mother for want of a better.”
 
I was moved with the kindness of the old couple; the more so as I did not know what I had done to deserve it. Old Tom gave me a squeeze of the hand, and then continued—“But about this wherry—what do you say, old woman?”
 
“What will it cost?” replied she, gravely.
 
“Cost; let me see—a good wherry, with sculls and , will be a matter of thirty pounds.”
 
The old woman screwed up her mouth, shook her head, and then walked away to prepare for dinner.
 
“I think she could the blunt, Jacob, but she don’t like to part with it. Tom must her. I wish he hadn’t shied the cat at her. He’s too full of fun.”
 
As old Beazeley finished, I perceived a wherry pulling in with some ladies. I looked , and recognised my own boat, and Tom pulling. In a minute more they were at the hard, and who, to my , were there seated, but Mrs Drummond and Sarah. As Tom got out of the boat and held it steady against the hard, he called to me; I could not do otherwise than go and assist them out; and once more did I touch the hands of those whom I never thought to meet again. Mrs Drummond retained my hand a short time after she landed, saying, “We are friends, Jacob, are we not!”
 
“Oh, yes, madam,” replied I, much moved, in a voice.
 
“I shall not ask that question,” said Sarah, , “for we parted friends.”
 
And as I recalled to m............