“But I am not going to heaven to leave you behind! All we Lindsay fishermen live to be old men of eighty or ninety, if we don’t get drowned, you know! Though indeed, for the matter of that, we mostly do get drowned,” he added, in a lower tone.
But she heard him, and quickly cried:
“Oh! Don’t you go and get drowned, please don’t, David Lindsay!”
“Indeed, I don’t mean to!” said the boy, as he went back to his hammering.
At that moment the colored girl, Lamia, appeared in the breach of the wall, calling for Miss Gloria.
The child stood up, and answered:
“Here I am. Who wants me?”
“Your aunt! Leastways, your uncle’s aunt—Miss Aggravatin Discrepancy,” said Lamia.
(That was what the negroes, with their usual blundering manner, made out of the lady’s classic and elegant maiden name.)
“What does my aunt want with me, Lamia?” inquired the child, with a troubled look.