“That I do.”
“Well, I get out there, catch hold of one of the arms of the mill and shin up—oh, it is fine fun—and then I peep into the nest.”
“You’re a droll boy, and a daring.”
“Yes, sir, a droll boy, and a daring.”
“Now, Barclay Stuart, that mill is mine. I have bought it!”
“Bought the old windmill, sir?”
“That I have, dearie, and I am going to furnish it as a beautiful house, and live in it.”
Barclay looked puzzled for a minute, and began to think that after all this weird little man might be mad.
Antonio, who by the way was a Spaniard, seemed to read his thoughts.
“No, boy Barclay, I’m not a crazy man. I am far, far too wise. But I am a student, and I have some strange instruments to make, and strange studies to work out, and nothing will suit me but lonesomeness and quiet. And here I’ll have it. No boys nor men can ever come here now without my leave, for I’ve taken all the field round about it. I shall hear nothing but the boom of the waves as they thunder on the beach, and the scream of the wild birds of the ocean, and these, dearie, are music to me. They will soothe me by day while I study, and lull me into gentle sleep at night.”