“That be a strange boat,” said Penlow after a long gossip; “well managed, though. The man at her wheel, whoever he be, knows the set of the tide round here as well as he knows his cabin. I wonder what boat that be?”
John had no heart to echo the wonder. Another strange boat, doubtless, bringing more fishers. He said it was getting tea-time, he would go along. He knew that if the fish were found and there was a seat in a boat it would be offered him. He would not give his mates the pain of refusing or of apologising. The next day he would go to St. Ives.
When he reached his cottage he saw Joan and Denas on the door-step watching the coming boat. Their smiles and interest hurt him. He walked to the hearth and began to fill his pipe. Then Denas, with a large paper in her hand, came to his side. She slipped on to his knee––she laid her cheek against his cheek––she said softly, and oh, so lovingly:
“Father! father! The boat coming––did you see her?”
“To be sure, Denas. I saw her, my dear.”
“She is your boat, father––yours from masthead to keel! All yours!”
He looked at her a moment and then said:
“Speak them words again, Denas.”
She spoke them again, smiling with frank delight and love into his face.