"Wisest little Mitsos, explain to me, then."
"He meant—he meant—Oh, surely you see what he meant," said Mitsos, feeling too sleepy to express himself.
"Well, anyhow, his nephew is not in a hurry," said Sophia, looking at his lazy length.
"His nephew is completely comfortable," said Mitsos. "It is very good to be on this ship, and my bones are sweet to me."
Sophia felt a trifle irritated with him. It had been extraordinarily pleasant to her to see him make himself so readily at home the evening before, but just now she felt a little ill-used at his entire contentment with the brig and her and himself. She would have preferred a little feeling of some sort to any amount of pure content. But a moment afterwards he looked up quickly.
"There is a breeze coming," and he got up. "Yes, there it comes," he said, pointing southward. "We shall have to square sails till we get round again. Shall I give the order, Capsina?"
"Please." Then when he joined her again: "How did you know the breeze was coming, little Mitsos?"
"I don't know. Perhaps I smelt it. Really, now you ask me, I find I can't tell you."
"That is curious," said the Capsina. "I had heard there were men who could do that, but I put it down to folks' tales. Michael, I think, knows sometimes, and now I look at you I notice your nostrils grow big and small like a dog's."
"They are as God made them," said Mitsos, piously.