"It does. Don't contradict. I love it!—A laboratory," he went on, "and I can work again on that cancer-cure—"
"Oh, Bill," I said, "isn't it wonderful? To think that perhaps you can bring a blessing to all the world, and I may help—a little—"
We were silent for a while—such a comfortable, understanding silence.
"Aunt Mavis," said Peter, appearing suddenly on deck, "Sarah has gone to bed!"
"Is she ill?" I asked, viewing the water, which was like blue glass.
"Not yet," said Peter gravely, "but she says she's taking no chances!"
"Poor Sarah!" I said, as Bill laughed. "Stay here with your uncle, Peterkins, and I'll go and see if I can do anything for her."
When I returned, I found my young charge and my husband hanging perilously over the rail, watching the antics of the flying-fish.
"Aren't they pretty?" I asked, joining them, "like tiny, colored aeroplanes."
We watched for some time in silence, and then Peter growing sleepy, for we had gotten up very early that morning, Bill tucked him into a rug in a chair, and we left him asleep almost instantly, to walk the deck until luncheon.