“Eh? What do you know about privateers?”
“Oh, not much,” said Rodd. “But going about at Plymouth and talking to the sailors, of course I used to hear something about them.”
“Well, yes, of course,” said the skipper thoughtfully, as he too swept the drops from the front of his sou’-wester, and tried to pierce the falling rain. “She might be a French privateer out of work, as you may say, for their game’s at an end now that the war’s over. Yes, a very smart craft.”
“But do you think she’s here for any particular purpose?”
“Yes, my lad; a very particular purpose.”
“Ah!” cried the boy rather excitedly. “What?”
“To take care of herself and keep in harbour till the weather turns right. Why? What were you thinking?”
“I was wondering why she came in so close after us, and then anchored where she is.”
“Oh, I can tell you that,” said the skipper, chuckling. “It was because she couldn’t help herself.”
“Then you don’t think she was watching us?”