"What a long, pretty description of Mr. Ferrier. You seem to have taken
a good deal of notice of the fortunate youth. Well, proceed."
Marion was a little flushed when she resumed, but her uncle did not
observe anything at all unusual.
"Where was I?--Oh, yes! You hold it right to give money in charity to
deserving objects. Now these men out at sea were left for years, perhaps
for centuries, to live as a class without hope or help. Dear good
creatures like my own uncle actually never knew that such people were in
existence. They were far worse off than savages who have plantains and
pumpkins and cocoanuts, and they were our own good flesh and blood, yet
we neglected them."
"So we do the East Enders, and the Lancashire operatives and the dock
labourers."
"True. But we are doing better now. Then you see the East End has been
discovered a long time, and visitors can walk; but the poor North Sea
men were left alone, until lately, by everybody."
"Still, we haven't come to why _I_ should help them."
"Oh! uncle, you are a commercial man. Look at selfish reasons alone. You
know how much we depend on sailors, and you often say the country is so
very, very ill-provided with them. And these men are--oh! such splendid
seamen. Fancy them staying out for two months with a gale of wind per
week, and doing it in little boats about eighty feet long. You should
see a hundred of them moving about in mazes and never running into any
trouble.
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