Babs ventured back to the window at last, and glanced once more out into the now gathering gloom. Far away beyond Selsea Bill the sun had set behind lurid coppery clouds, that boded little good for ships that were toiling up the Channel.
“O daddy, here is postie at long, long last, and he’s all, all dressed in oilskins! He is coming to the door! Oh!”
She could not say another word for a few moments, but flew toward her father.
“It is—it is—O daddy! it’s Ransey!”
Book Two—Chapter Two.
“Ship-Shape and Seaman-Fashion.”
There wasn’t a doubt about that, and no lad surely ever got a happier welcome home.