"I 'm sure we ought not," declared Val, wondering what Westenra would say if Haidee were drowned. There was a chorus of howls. Kitty put on her Spring Song face. Haidee's expression resembled that of a rhino about to charge.
"Mother, you promised...!"
"Oh, Val, you mean pig...!"
They burst from the room, scowling and muttering. Later even sobs were heard upstairs.
"Perhaps, after all...?" Harriott wavered.
"They are, I 'm sure, nice boys..." said Val, "and evidently good sailors. Shall we ask père Duval?"
They found the latter, as usual, hoeing his garden, Bran assisting him. Bran loved père Duval, who, he said, "smelt like a bar of iron that had been lying at the bottom of the sea for a few weeks ... all green and rusty, but yet nice."
"Of those two boys," the old man peered at them with his bleary eyes, "you need have no fear, mesdames. There are no better sailors on this coast. And round here it is very safe too--no bad winds--safe as heaven."
Less uneasy, they went upstairs to throw the oil of consent upon the stormy waters of rebellion. Immediately the two began to get out their sweaters and warm skirts as if to start at once, though the sail had been fixed for next morning. Harriott and Val stood smiling grimly, throwing little darts.
"I hope you 'll take your tubs before you go--even though you may get an unpremeditated dip," gibed Harriott.