“Shad-flies.”
“I love shad. Do you suppose our crew could catch us some?”
Of all the ignorant and ridiculous things ever said about the St. Mary’s this was the worst, but it moved no laughter in Jean. She simply kept looking at that silver fox, as if it had been Medusa turning her to stone.
“My dear young lady,” said Ambrose Rich, “the shad, which the Romans were wont to call the little silver shield, is a migrating herring which would be glad enough to visit this river if it had the strength. Eels do come. They travel all the way from their birthplace in the Sargasso sea and arrive here when only a few inches long, but they are too round to jump after flies. Your crew can easily catch herring, however, and I will go down with you now and show them how.”
“Thank you so much, Mr.—”
“My name is Rich.”
“And ours is Ferry. We have been having a lovely cruise. Did you notice how green the sky was last evening?”
“My daughter noticed it. The Indians too would notice it. They note the difference between green and blue much better than their forefathers did. Few Indians were able to perceive blue, and few had a name for it.”
“How curious! Well, I brought along this little package, and hope you will kindly accept it as—as—” She laid the package on the library table.
When the callers had departed, the gift lay untouched until the doctor opened it and revealed a green sweater of the softest weave. He placed it in his daughter’s hands, and she kissed him for it. Next morning however he found it in Agricola’s kennel, and deprived the governor of Britain of the most comfortable bed that ever a dog enjoyed.