Jean and Christie went toward the boats.
Jean, after taking it philosophically for half a minute, began to whimper.
“What's wrang?” said Christie.
“Div ye think my hairt's no in my mooth wi' you gripping yon fierce robber?”
Here a young fishwife, with a box in her hand, who had followed them, pulled Jean by the coats.
“Hets,” said Jean, pulling herself free.
The child then, with a pertinacity these little animals have, pulled Christie's coats.
“Hets,” said Christie, freeing herself more gently.
“Ye suld mairry Van Amburgh,” continued Jean; “ye are just such a lass as he is a lad.”
Christie smiled proudly, was silent, but did not disown the comparison.