"She's a very good boat. Old, of course. She is a herring boat, and though she isn't fascinatingly beautiful, she can sail. Dick—helped by Brownie—decked her over, and Dick picked up a new set of sails last year from a man who was selling off his gear. Have you put in the bait and the lines, Willy?"
"Aye, aye, Miss Nell; I'm thinkin' you'll be gettin' some mackerel if the wind holds. Let me help 'ee wi' the sail."
"No, no," said Nell, "I can manage. Oh, please don't you trouble!" she added to Vernon. "If you'll give me the sheet—that's the rope by your hand."
Vernon nodded, and suppressed a smile.
"She'll go a bit tauter still, I think," he said, as Nell hoisted the mainsail.
She looked at him.
"You understand?" she said, with a little surprise.
Vernon thought of his crack yacht, but answered casually:
"I've done some yachting—yes."
"Yachting!" said Nell. "This isn't yachting. You must feel a kind of contempt for our poor old tub."