“Bless your heart!” said Silas; “the suggestion is a grand one. I close with your offer at once. You see, sir, we Greenlandmen generally return to harbour all dirty, outside anyhow, with our sides scraped clean o’ paint, and our masts and spars as black as a collier’s.”
“You shan’t, though,” said McBain. “We’ll spend a bucket or two of paint over him, won’t we, boys?”
“That will we,” said Ralph and Allan, both in one breath.
“And I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” added Rory.
“Something nice, I’m certain,” said Silas.
“I’ll paint and gild that Highland lassie of yours that you have for a figure-head.”
“Glorious! glorious!” cried Silas Grig.
“Why, my own wife won’t know the ship. And, poor wee body! she’ll be down there looking anxiously enough out to sea when she hears I’m in the offing. Oh, it will be glorious! Won’t my matie be pleased when he hears about it!”
“I say, though,” said Rory, “I’ll change the pattern of your Highland lassie’s tartan. She came to the country a Gordon, she shall return a McGregor.”
“Or a McFlail,” suggested Sandy.