OUT OF FREEKIRK HEAD
“OH, I wouldn’t think of such a thing for a minute!”
Captain Bijonah Turner waved his hand with an air of finality and favored his daughter with a glare meant to be pregnant with parental authority.
“But, father, listen to reason!” cried Nellie; “here is mother to take care of the three small children, and here am I with nothing whatever to do. Be sensible and let me go along. I certainly ought to be able to help in some way.”
“But,” expostulated the captain, “girls don’t go on fishing-trips.”
“Suppose the cook should fall sick or be hurt, then I would come in handy, wouldn’t I? But all this is not the real point. Things are different with us than they have ever been before; we have no home, and mother and the children have to board with Ma Sprague. If I stayed here I should be a burden, and I couldn’t stand that.”
Bijonah scratched his head and looked at the girl 111 helplessly. He had yet to score his first victory over her in an argument.
“Have you asked your mother?” he queried at last, seeking his time-worn refuge.
“Yes,” said she, brightening at the imminence of victory, “and she says she thinks it will be just the thing.”
“All right,” said Bijonah weakly; “come along then. But mind, you’ll find things different. Your mother is boss of any land she puts her foot on, but once I get the Rosan past Swallowtail my word goes.”