“Do you, though?” said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself surprising. “If you had to die,” said Paul, looking up into his face—Mr Toots started, and seemed much disturbed.
“Don’t you think you would rather die on a moonlight night, when the sky was quite clear, and the wind blowing, as it did last night?”
Mr Toots said, looking doubtfully at Paul, and shaking his head, that he didn’t know about that.
“Not blowing, at least,” said Paul, “but sounding in the air like the sea sounds in the shells. It was a beautiful night. When I had listened to the water for a long time, I got up and looked out. There was a boat over there, in the full light of the moon; a boat with a sail.”
The child looked at him so steadfastly, and spoke so earnestly, that Mr Toots, feeling himself called upon to say something about this boat, said, “Smugglers.” But with an impartial remembrance of there being two sides to every question, he added, “or Preventive.”
“A boat with a sail,” repeated Paul, “in the full light of the moon. The sail like an arm, all silver. It went away into the distance, and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?”
“Pitch,” said Mr Toots.
“It seemed to beckon,” said the child, “to beckon me to come!—There she is! There she is!”
Toots was almost beside himself with dismay at this sudden exclamation, after what had gone before, and cried “Who?”
“My sister Florence!” cried Paul, “looking up here, and waving her hand. She sees me—she sees me! Good-night, dear, good-night, good-night.”