The sun had gone down so suddenly, that though the ship was but five miles off, and they could see her great lantern a-swing at the masthead, they would not dare to fight the weeds at night.
But Barclay’s plan suited romantic wee Teenie very much indeed.
She clapped her hands first with delight, then growing serious all of a sudden, she put her hand on Barclay’s arm, and leaning confidingly towards him—
“Of course,” she asked, “no wobbley-wobbley beasts will come up to kill us?”
“You are perfectly safe, Teenie dear.”
“Well,” she added, “I’ll say my prayers and make sure.”
Off came every cap, and no one spoke till Teenie got up from off her knees and once more seated herself among the cushions.
It was an ideal tropical night. The stars were all out, and shining with ineffable clearness. A gentle breeze blew over the great brown sea in a kind of gentle whisper, and far away on the western horizon great white clouds had banked up, behind which the summer lightning or “fire flaughts” played incessantly.
For a long time Barclay and Teenie sat side by side talking low together about the dear old times, as the child called them, and all their fishing adventures and wild escapades in the woods and on the hills and moors.
But she heaved a deep sigh at last.