“Who is the officer in that boat?”
“Dan Darrin,” Black Pawl told her, “my second mate. A fine boy.” He chuckled teasingly. “And you’re rosy already, at the sight of him.”
“I’m not,” she denied, her cheeks refuting her denial.
“A fine boy,” declared Black Pawl again.
CHAPTER II
THEY did not get away as soon as the Captain had expected. Before coming to this anchorage, the oil-casks had been securely stowed against the homeward voyage; the whaling gear had been taken out of the boats and cleaned and oiled and sent below. The rigging was set up and tarred down, and the hull and spars were scraped and painted to suit even Black Pawl’s exacting eye. With the last stores aboard, the schooner was ready for sea; but toward mid-afternoon the weather-signs became unfavorable, and it was decided to lie where they were until whatever weather was brewing should have blown itself out. The narrow outlet from the bay was no place in which to be caught by a squall.
When this word of the Captain’s went forward, the men gathered in knots upon the deck, talking together; and Black Pawl saw his son and mate speak to one or two. He was not surprised, therefore, when a group of the men presently came aft and stopped at the break of the deck to speak to him. With Red Pawl behind him and Dan Darrin at one side, he looked down on them. The missionary and the girl were aft by the wheel.
“Well, what now?” Black Pawl asked good-humoredly.
“We’m heard you’ll lay here till the wind’s fit, sir,” declared the spokesman.
“Yes. Object?”