“If we don’t get away, Mas’ Don,” he said, after a pause, “and they take us aboard ship and make sailors of us—”
“Don’t talk like that, Jem! We must—we will get away.”
“Oh, yes, it’s all very well to talk, Mas’ Don, but it’s as well to be prepared for the worst. Like as not we sha’n’t get away, and then we shall go aboard, be made sailors, and have to fight the French.”
“I shall not believe that, Jem, till it takes place.”
“I shall, my lad, and I hope when I’m far away as your mother, as is a reg’lar angel, will do what’s right by my Sally, as is a married woman, but only a silly girl after all, as says and does things without thinking what they mean. I was horrid stupid to take so much notice of all she said, and all through that I’m here.”
“Haven’t we got enough ready, Jem?” said Don, impatiently, for his companion’s words troubled him. They seemed to fit his own case.
“Yes, I should think that will do now, sir, so let’s begin and twist up a rope. We sha’n’t want it very thick.”
“But we shall want it very strong, Jem.”
“Here goes, then, to make it,” said Jem, taking the balls of yarn, knotting the ends together, and then taking a large piece of sack and placing it beside him.
“To cover up the stuff if we hear any one coming, my lad. Now then, you pay out, and I’ll twist. Mustn’t get the yarn tangled.”