“We’re not much more than damp now, my lad,” said the major; “and this will dry us and warm us too. I say, my boy, I thought we had come to the end of the book. Didn’t you?”
“No,” said Mark quietly. “I knew we were in great danger; but I felt that my father would save our lives.”
“That’s right,” said the major. “Always have faith in your father, my lad. He’s a fine fellow, and if you follow his example you will not go far wrong. Now, then, I begin to feel much better, and if I could light my cigar I should feel better still.”
“Have you no matches, sir?”
“Yes, my lad, but if they are dry they may be wanted to cook something if there is anything here to cook, and I mustn’t waste them on my luxuries. I wish I had awakened my Mary, but it’s best to let her waken herself, and if I woke her I should have awakened them all.”
“There’s Mr Gregory opening his eyes, sir,” said Mark eagerly; and he made a sign to the mate.
Mr Gregory stared hard at him for a few moments before any sign of comprehension came into his face. It did, however, at last, and he rose stiffly and stepped ashore.
“Good morning, indeed,” he said; “it’s more than good, for yesterday I thought it was good night for all of us. Why don’t you light your cigar, major?”
“Don’t tempt me, man, I’m going to practise chewing. Have this other half. Will you chew it?”
“No,” said Mr Gregory, taking out a little silver matchbox; “I’ve plenty of lights, quite dry.”