“Sure,” said Rory, “you needn’t pull so long a face, old man; it’s only the childer just got out of school.”
The “childer” in this instance were birds.
“It’s much clearer to-day,” said Stevenson, one morning, as he made his usual report. “We can see the clouds, and they’re all on the scud. I expect we’ll have wind soon, sir.”
“Very well, Mr Stevenson,” was the reply, “be ready for it, you know; have the fires lit and banked, and then stand by to get the ice-anchors and fenders on board,” (the ship was fast to a berg).
“There is a line of ice to the westward, sir, about a quarter of a mile off, and clear water all between.”
“Thank you, Mr Stevenson.”
But Stevenson did not retire. He stopped, hesitatingly.
“You’ve something to ask me, I think?” said McBain.
“I’ve something to tell you,” replied the mate, with a kind of a forced laugh. “I dare say you will think me a fool for my pains, but as sure as you gentlemen are sitting there at breakfast this morning, about five bells in the middle watch I saw—and every man Jack of us saw—”