“Nothing serious. We were just starting after all our faulty rigging had been replaced. If we had been coming home after a voyage it might have been different. One or two sails were blown to shreds, but the old ship behaved nobly.”
“I wish I had not been so ill,” said Mark thoughtfully.
“So do I, my lad; but why do you speak so?”
“Because I should have liked to be on deck.”
“Ah! well, you need not regret your sickness, for you would not have been on deck. It was as much as we could do to hold our own and not get washed overboard. That’s worth looking at.”
He pointed, as he spoke, to a blue line of hills away to the east bathed in the brilliant sunshine, while the water between them and the shore seemed to be as blue, but of another shade.
“Spain!” said Mark. “How lovely!”
“Portugal, my lad. Yes, it’s pretty enough, but I’ve often seen bits of the Welsh coast look far more lovely. Don’t you run away with the idea that you are going to see more beautiful countries than your own.”
“Oh, but, Mr Morgan, Spain, and Italy, and Egypt, and Ceylon, and Singapore, they are all more beautiful than England.”
“They’re different, my lad,” said Morgan, laughing, “and they look new to you and fresh; but when the weather’s fine, take my word for it there’s no place like home.”