Only somehow no one seemed to like or trust Petersen the Dane. His brows were always lowered. He appeared to shun conversation, and, as I said before, he never looked any one in the face.
Yet was he a brave and truly excellent sailor.
Sometimes Antonio dined at Parson Grahame’s house, and the good man was astonished at the amount of the captain’s knowledge, of not only the arts and sciences, especially electricity, but of astronomy also.
Grahame could have sat and listened to his conversation for a week and not felt tired. It must be confessed, however, that he would have listened with more pleasure had it not been for that uncanny eye of Antonio’s.
Often while talking he would put his fingers over it, as if quite conscious of the disagreeable effect it had on those who beheld it.
Time rolled on.
Antonio seemed to have no other desire save that of studying and preparing, as he told young Drake and Barclay, for a long, long voyage to sea.
Both boys had made great progress in their knowledge of seamanship, and before mellow autumn came on they could not only splice, steer, reef a topsail, and box the compass, but had a fairly good knowledge of plain sailing.
When autumn clothed the far-off moors and hills in purple and crimson, a grand picnic was arranged.
Pandoo was the caterer. A great waggon was specially chartered for the occasion. Mrs. Stuart and Parson Grahame both were among the passengers, and so away and away they drove up hills and down dells, but especially up, till high above the ocean they found themselves among scenery as charming, as one can find anywhere in the south of Merrie England.