The course was set southeast for Rincoteague Island. After a dubious phrase or two about the weather, Aunty Landis ensconced herself just within the opened doors of the little cabin. Here she produced an infinite number of gigantic stockings (male) from a work-bag, and proceeded to darn them.
“I hope both you and your aunt are good sailors,” said Fessenden. “It promises to be a bit rough before we get back.”
“Oh, yes. I hope it does blow. To be wet and cold, and to see the water boiling up ready to drown us—that would be living!”
“You strange child! You have a philosophy all your own. Did you know that?”
She nodded sagely. “Of course. I hate people who haven’t. That’s one reason I like you.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to hear you confess that there’s more reasons than one. I like you because—because you seem to me to be all golden. Perhaps the sun dazzles me.”
“Perhaps,” she smiled.
“You and the day are golden, but remember the song in Cymbeline:
“Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney sweepers come to dust.”