Returning to the deck, he was consulting Travers about a carpenter, when, to his astonishment, he saw young Davy, the boy he had brought from Duff Harbour, and whom he understood to have gone back with Blue Peter, gazing at him from before the mast.
“Gien ye please, Maister MacPhail,” said Davy, and said no more.
“How on earth do you come to be here, you rascal?” said Malcolm. “Peter was to take you home with him!”
“I garred him think I was gauin’,” answered the boy, scratching his red poll, which glowed in the dusk.
“I gave him your wages,” said Malcolm.
“Ay, he tauld me that, but I loot them gang an’ gae him the slip, an’ was ashore close ahint yersel’, sir, jist as the smack set sail. I cudna gang ohn hed a word wi’ yersel’, sir, to see whether ye wadna lat me bide wi’ ye, sir. I haena muckle wut, they tell me, sir, but gien I michtna aye be able to du what ye tell’t me to du, I cud aye haud ohn dune what ye tell’t me no to.”
The words of the boy pleased Malcolm more than he judged it wise to manifest. He looked hard at Davy. There was little to be seen in his face except the best and only thing—truth. It shone from his round pale blue eyes; it conquered the self-assertion of his unhappy nose; it seemed to glow in every freckle of his sunburnt cheeks, as earnestly he returned Malcolm’s gaze.
“But,” said Malcolm, almost satisfied, “how is this, Travers? I never gave you any instructions about the boy.”
“There’s where it is, sir,” answered Travers. “I seed the boy aboard before, and when he come aboard again, jest arter you left, I never as much as said to myself, It’s all right. I axed him no questions, and he told me no lies.”
“Gien ye please, sir,” struck in Davy, “Maister Trahvers gied me my mait, an’ I tuik it, ’cause I hed no sil’er to buy ony: I houp it wasna stealin’, sir. An’ gien ye wad keep me, ye cud tak it aff o’ my wauges for three days.”