“Now, I have nothing more to do than to speak to Juno about dinner,” replied Ready; “and then I’ll just take a mouthful, and be off.”
Ready directed Juno to fry some pork in the frying-pan, and then to cut off some slices from the turtle, and cook turtle-steaks for dinner, as well as to warm up the soup which was left; and then, with a biscuit and a piece of beef in his hand, he went down to the boat and set off for the cove. Mr Seagrave and William worked hard; and, by twelve o’clock, the hole was quite large and deep enough, according to the directions Ready had given. They then left their work and went to the tent.
“You don’t know how much happier I am now that I am here,” said Mrs Seagrave, taking her husband’s hand, as he seated himself by her.
“I trust it is a presentiment of future happiness, my dear,” said Mr Seagrave. “I assure you that I feel the same, and was saying so to Ready this morning.”
“I feel that I could live here for ever, it is so calm and beautiful; but I miss one thing—there are no birds singing here as at home.”
“I have seen no birds except sea-birds, and of them there is plenty. Have you, William?”
“Only once, father. I saw a flight a long way off. Ready was not with me, and I could not tell what they were; but they were large birds, as big as pigeons, I should think. There is Ready coming round the point,” continued William. “How fast that little boat sails! It is a long pull, though, for the old man when he goes to the cove.”
“Let us go down and help Ready carry up some of the things before dinner,” said Mrs Seagrave.
They did so; and William rolled up the empty water-cask which Ready had brought with him.
The turtle-steaks were as much approved of as the turtle-soup; indeed, after having been so long on salt meat, a return to fresh provisions was delightful.