But even as they came down the long hill that leads into Fisherton the weird wee man played and sang again, and Maud and Phœbe joined in with their sweet, though childish treble.
Everybody admitted to-night and for many a day afterwards that they had never enjoyed so delightful an outing.
. . . . . .
And now the weather began to get dull and gloomy. The clouds every day banked high above the horizon, and arched the very heavens with their grey-black rolling cumulus. As far as could be seen southwards the ocean was dull and troubled. The sea-birds screamed their loudest, and, caught by the wind at times while high in air, appeared to be whirled away at its mercy, and nolens volens.
Winter was coming on apace!
But the boys appeared regularly every day notwithstanding, and often Antonio took them far to sea, even when it was blowing half a gale.
He told the lads that he wished them to become real sailors, and not feather-bed, long-shore chaps, who didn’t know how to handle even a dinghy in a puff of wind.
By this time Davie Drake himself had found his sea-legs, and Antonio was pleased, not only with his general knowledge of seamanship, but of navigation as well.
Davie went home every night; Barclay of course remained with his captain, and slept in his little bedroom, high aloft above the beautifully furnished drawing-room.
Sometimes—just when she thought of it—bare-headed, bare-footed little Teenie came toddling over to the windmill.