He turned those good blue eyes of his upon the boy with a drolling baffled look.
"How's it to be done?—what says the Commodore?"
The light had fled from the boy's face. Pale and still, he looked like a young saint about to be martyred.
"There's only one way I can think of, sir."
"What's that?"
The lad lifted the eyes of a woman.
"Pray."
A darkness drove across the Parson's face.
"You pray," he growled. "I'll sharpen my sword."
Turning to the corner he bowed to Polly shining among the cobwebs.