“No,” I said hurriedly; and he laughed a little, rather unpleasantly, I thought, and walked forward to stand with his elbows on the bulwark watching the distant shore.
“There!” whispered Esau. “Now would a fellow who was all right and square come and listen to all we said like that? Seems to be always creeping up behind you.”
“I don’t think he did that purposely.”
“Well then, I do. You always take his part, no matter what I say; and it sometimes seems to me as if you were pitching me over, so as to take up with him.”
“That’s right, Esau,” I replied. “That is why we sailed off together, and left you in the lurch.”
Esau pressed his lips together, gave his foot a stamp, and then pushed close up to me.
“Here,” he said, “punch my head, please. Do. I wish you would. My tongue’s always saying something I don’t mean.”
I did not punch Esau’s head, and the little incident was soon forgotten in the interest of the rest of our journey. For we sailed on now in bright sunshine, the uneasy motion of the schooner was at an end, and there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a whale, then a shoal of fish of some kind, and sea-birds floating here and there. Then some mountain peak came into view, with lovely valleys and vast forests of pines—scene after scene of beauty that kept us on deck till it was too dark to see anything, and tempted us on deck again the moment it was light.
By midday we were in the port of Victoria, where the skipper began at once to discharge his cargo, and hence we were not long before our chests were on the rough timber wharf, side by side with those of Gunson, who left us in charge of them while he went away.
“Wish he wouldn’t order us about like that,” cried Esau, angrily; “let’s go away, and let some one else look after his traps.”