"That be pretty maiden from London, that be."
An old man was seated on an upturned boat mending a net, and Margaret, feeling lonely, gave him good-evening.
"Good-evening, miss," said the old man, touching the wisp of white hair that shone like snow against his tanned face. "Be 'ee going out for a sail?"
"No," said Margaret, "I am only strolling about."
He nodded approvingly.
"Well, you be wise. Better on land, miss. We're goin' to have a shift in the weather."
Margaret looked at the cloudless sky and smiled down upon him with gentle incredulity; the old man shook his head.
"Oh, it be bright as a new penny now, miss, surely," he said, smiling back, "but it bean't going to last. There's a wisp in the wind as threatens a storm. It 'ull come before night; a tough un, too."
"Oh, I am so sorry," said Margaret. "There are some boats out at sea. Will they be safe?"
"There bean't many," said the old man.