“No,” I said; “and I shouldn’t think it’s true. Hallo! Look yonder. Why, there’s Bob Chowne!”
Bob it was, and the mine, the coming of the French, and everything else was forgotten, as we went down to the beach, ready enough for a ramble beneath the rocks, after six months’ absence from home.
Chapter Twenty Five.
Friends and Enemies.
At seventeen one’s ideas are very different to what they are at fourteen, and matters that seemed of no account in the earlier period looked important at the more mature. For it used to seem to us quite a matter of course that Bigley’s father should have a lugger, and if the people said he went over to France or the Low Countries with the men who came over from Dodcombe, and engaged in smuggling, why, he did. It was nothing to us.
We never troubled about it, for Bigley was our school-fellow, and old Jonas was very civil, though he never would let us have the boat again. But now that we were getting of an age to think and take notice of what was said about us, Bob Chowne began to suggest that he and I ought to make a change.
“You see it don’t seem respectable for me, the son of the doctor, and you of the captain, who is our mine owner, to be such friends with one whose father is a regular smuggler.”
“How do you know he is?” I said.