The Sailor's Home: The Girdle of Truth

"You seem to be weary, my friend," said Mr. Curtis, the vicar of Colme, stopping courteously to speak to a sailor, who was seated on the stump of a tree at the side of the pathway. It was a glowing day in August; the air was hot and sultry, and dust lay thick on the road.
Ned Franks, the sailor, rose on being addressed, and touched his glazed hat, on which appeared the badge of the anchor, surmounted by a crown, which showed that he had belonged to the Royal Navy. He was a fine stalwart-looking young man, scarcely thirty years of age, with sunburnt cheek, and thick curling hair; and as Mr. Curtis met the glance of his clear blue eye, the clergyman thought that he had never looked upon a face more manly or pleasant.
"I've walked twenty miles, sir, since sunrise," said Franks, glancing at the bundle which he had been carrying on a stick across his shoulder, and which was now resting against the stump from which he had risen. "But I'm nigh port now, I take it, if yonder's the village of Colme."
"Are you going to visit it?" asked the vicar.
"I'm going to drop anchor there for good, sir," answered the tar. "I've a sister—a step-sister I should say, living yonder; she and I are all that are left of the family now, and I'll make my home with her, please God."
"Surely you are too young to give up the navy, my friend. Idleness would be no blessing to a fine strong lad such as you seem to be; you may have many years before you yet of good service to the Queen."
"I shall never serve the Queen again, bless her!" replied the young sailor, with a touch of sadness.
And Mr. Curtis then, for the first time, remarked that the left sleeve of Ned's blue jacket hung empty.
"But I don't look to be idle, sir," continued Franks, in a tone more cheerful, "Bessy will have my bit of a pension for the mess and the berth, and I'll see if I can't make myself useful in some way or other—go errands, or maybe try the teaching tack; anything would be better than lying like a log on the shore."