The younger man thought gravely for a moment. “I don’t remember, sir. What’s to-day?... Thursday?” He smiled. “Monday, sir, I think it was.... Thanks awfully for the barge, sir. I’ll go ashore when I’ve seen the ship all right for the night.”
II
The tiny cottage parlour was flooded with sunshine: through the open window the throaty bubbling song of a thrush poured like a cascade from among the blossoms of an apple-tree that came near to thrusting inquisitive lower branches into the room. The Commander sat at the breakfast-table chipping the top off an egg; opposite him stood a girl, her brows knitted in the preoccupation of coffee-making. At his left hand, perched in a high chair, sat a smaller edition of himself with a bib under his chin, watching the decapitation of the egg with intent solemnity.
“What did the White Queen say?” asked the Commander.
“Off wiv his ’ead,” came the reply promptly, in rich tones of anticipation.
“’Head,’ darling,” protested the coffeemaker without raising her eyes from her task.
“Never mind, John Willie,” said his father. “Let’s cut the cackle and get to the ’osses.” He extended the top of the brown egg to his son and heir, who gravely accepted it, and delved into its white and gold with an unwieldy egg-spoon.
“Well?” said his father.
“Fank you,” said John Willie absent-mindedly. He finished the egg’s head and passed on to the more serious business of porridge in a blue-and-white bowl. “Can I go to see daddy’s ship ’smorning?” he queried presently. A tiny shadow passed across his mother’s eyes and was gone again. For nearly a week she had been able to forget that ship.
She looked at her first-born across the table and smiled. “What d’you want to see?” she asked.