“Mustn’t tell,” said the boy slowly.
“Then they are,” cried the girl, with her handsome young face puckering up with the trouble which oppressed her, and after standing looking thoughtful and anxious for a few moments, she went away toward the front of the house, while Ram went round to the side and delivered his basket.
“Course we are,” he said to himself, as he went down the hill again. “But I warn’t going to blab. What a fuss people do make about a bit o’ smuggling! How pretty she looks!” and he stopped short to admire her—the she being the White Hawk, which lay motionless on the calm sea. “Wish I could sail aboard a boat like that, and be dressed like that young chap with his sword. I would like to wear a sword. I told father so, and he said I was a fool.”
He threw himself down on the short turf, which was dotted with black and grey, as the rooks, jackdaws, and gulls marched about feeding together in the most friendly way, where the tiny striped snails hung upon the strands of grass by millions.
“It’ll be a fog again to-night,” he said thoughtfully, “and she’s sure to come. Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, as he made a derisive gesture towards the cutter; “watch away. You may wear your gold lace and cocked hats and swords, but you won’t catch us, my lads; we’re too sharp for that.”
Chapter Five.
Shackle was quite right; the fog did begin to gather over the sea soon after sundown, and the depressing weather seemed to have a curious effect on Farmer Shackle, who kept getting up from his supper to go and look out through the open door, and come back smiling and rubbing his hands.
Mrs Shackle was very quiet and grave-looking and silent for a time, but at last she ventured a question.