“I don’t know; why?”
“Because here’s a fortnight we’ve been at anchor, and since the first day neither of us has been out in a boat.”
“Hasn’t been our turn, Jem.”
“Well, p’r’aps not, sir; but it do seem strange. Just as if they thought we should slip away.”
“And I suppose we’ve given up all such thoughts as that now.”
“Oh, have we?” said Jem sarcastically; and then there was silence for a time, till Jem, who had been watching the steam rise from the little island about a quarter of a mile away, exclaimed, “Wonder what’s being cooked over yonder, Mas’ Don. I know; no, I don’t. Thought it was washing day, but it can’t be, for they don’t hardly wear any clothes.”
“It’s volcanic steam, Jem. Comes out of the earth.”
“Get along with you, Mas’ Don. Don’t get spinning yarns.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Jem.”
“Are you, sir? Well, p’r’aps it’s what you think is the truth, I say, arn’t it lovely out here? How I should like to have a cottage just on that there point, and my Sally to keep it tidy. Hullo! What’s up?”