“That would be just too awfully jolly for anything,” said Barclay with enthusiasm.
“Our little cruises to sea would be little picnics, and we’d have plenty to eat, and nice drinks—oh, not wine.” The Spaniard shuddered slightly as he added, “I’ve seen terrible things happen at sea from wine-drinking. No, no, dearie, never touch wine or anything like that—it kills the body, it ruins the mind.”
“And, Captain Antonio, I suppose sometimes Maud, and Phœbe, and Teenie could go with us, and Davie Drake?”
“No,” replied Antonio, “not sometimes, but always, if they wish to. But who are Maud, and Phœbe, and Teenie, and Davie Drake, eh?”
“Oh, don’t you know; Maud is the parson’s daughter, Phœbe is my little sister, and—and—well, sir, Teenie is just a little barefooted fisher-girl, but she is so good and nice, and we often fish together for a whole day. Yes, I like—Teenie.”
“Well, she shall come, bare feet and all; but who is Davie Drake?”
And now Barclay’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
“Oh,” he cried, “he is a handsome boy, nearly a man, for he is sixteen. He is a farmer’s son, but he is going to sea. And he and I roam the woods together, and often the fishermen take us far away to sea. I like Teenie, but—I love Davie.”
“Well, dearie, these are our passengers, five in all, and I’ll find the crew.”
Barclay for the life of him could not help crying “Hooray! what fun we’ll have!