Luttrell nodded, and after a moment said, “Get ready now, for here’s Maher coming for orders.”
CHAPTER XVII. THE NOR’-WESTER
The day—a dark and stormy one—was drawing to a close as the yawl got under weigh. She was manned by a stout crew of five hardy islanders; for although Maher had selected but three to accompany him, Tim Hennesy volunteered, and, indeed, jumped on board, as the boat sheered off, without leave asked or given. Luttrell had parted with his boy in his habitual impassive way—reminded him that he was under Tom Maher’s orders, equally on shore as on board—that he trusted to hear a good account of him on his return, and then said a cold “good-by,” and turned away.
When Harry, who rarely had so long an interview with his father, left the room, he felt a sort of relief to think it was over; he had been neither punished nor scolded, even the warning that was given was very slight, and uttered in no unkindness.
“Give me a kiss, Molly, and throw an old shoe after me, for luck!” cried he, gaily, as he reached the door. “We’ve got the big yawl, and though Tom has put two reefs in the mainsail, won’t I make him shake them out when we’re well out to sea!”
“I’ll just go and tell the master this minit, then,” said she, eagerly, “and you’ll see what he’ll say to you.”
“Will you be quiet?” said he, catching hold of her apron to detain her; “wasn’t I only joking? I’m to be under Tom’s orders, and of course I’ll obey him.”
There was a waggish drollery in the way he said this that by no means reassured her, but taking his hand, she walked down to the beach beside him, telling him to be careful of himself, and do nothing rash, and to mind what Tom Maher said, and, above all, to remember he was the last of the family, and if anything was to happen to him there was an end of the name for ever.
“And don’t you think, Molly, that the world would continue to go round, even if it lost us, great as we are?”