“O, mother, we’ll raise lots of hens, and you shall have all the room in the vessel you want.”
The next morning Sally went round among her old friends and school-mates, who received her with open arms, and entered heart and soul into her plan. Uncle Blaisdell was delighted, and told Sally he would oversee the whole work.
“If you had all the canvas these old fingers have wove,” said he, “it would make sails for a good many such vessels.”
Old Mrs. Yelf, contrary to all expectations, had recovered: Sally found her sitting by the fire, and she was greatly interested.
“Sally, tell Fred to bring me the yarn. I’ll weave enough for a small sail, if I die for’t. I shall glory in it, and an old lady’s blessing shall go with it. They’re good boys; they have begun right; they’ve sought the Lord in their youthful days, and to whatever they set their hands they’ll prosper.”
“We’ve got the sails under way,” said Charlie, “and got our iron: we shall want a good deal of tar, for she must have a brimstone bottom, or the worms will eat her all up in two months at the West Indies.”
“We can make that,” said John.
“Make tar?”
“Yes, indeed: cut down pine trees, take the limbs where we have cut timber and knees, and make a tar-pit. I know all about that.”