“That’s a bargain then, sir?” said the old fellow, going to the door, and shouting, “Lan’ord, ahoy!” in a voice of thunder, and then coming back to open the window and yell, “Will, ahoy! Go and tell her as it’s settled.”
Then he banged to the window, and turned round as the landlord came in smiling and looking greatly relieved.
“Gentleman says it’s all right, neighbour,” said Uncle Abram.
“Thank ye heartily, neighbour,” said the landlord, “and you too, Mr Temple, sir. It’s kep’ me awake for nights.”
The result was that the little party moved bodily to Uncle Abram’s that morning, their luggage being conveyed, as soon as possible by Josh and Will; and directly they were in the pleasant sea-side rooms Uncle Abram took Dick round the place to point out various objects about the walls.
“Welcome to ’em as the flowers is to May, my lad,” he said with a good many nods and winks; “only wipe ’em dry and put ’em back when done—spy-glass, oilskins, big boots, fishing-lines, nets, and curiosities for a wet day, box o’ dominoes for the wet nights. Make yourself at home.”
Slap on the back.
This last was a sort of seal to finish the welcome; and then the old man went back to his garden to stand in the rockery, which served as a look-out, and scan the horizon with his glass.
Mr Temple was delighted with the change, for, in spite of the quiet respectability of the Cornish fishermen and their bluff, pleasant ways, a fishing port inn, even in a west-country village, is not always perfect as a place for a sojourn; while Uncle Abram’s home was a pattern of neatness, and Aunt Ruth seemed very amiably disposed towards her guests.