“Wearisome’s nothing to it. I was dreaming, Mas’ Don, when they routed us up.”
“So was I, Jem.”
“What was you dreaming about, Mas’ Don?”
“Home.”
“Hah!” said Jem, with a sigh; “so was I. Wonder what my Sally’s doing now.”
“Sitting down to tea, Jem.”
“What! In the middle of the night?”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon now, perhaps, Jem, on the other side of the world.”
“Dessay it is, sir, if you says so; but I never can understand that kind of talk. Say, my lad, how dark it is! Why if four or five of those great war canoes liked to come out now, with a lot of fighting men aboard, they could take this here ship before we could cry Jack Robinson. Look yonder. Isn’t that one stealing out from behind that island?”
“No, Jem; I see nothing but shadow.”