“That’s a sure sign, Madame Rosalie,” continued the skipper, “that the trade wind has blown itself out, and the chances are that this hot sun will drink up the flying clouds, and leave us in a dead calm till the moon quarters to-night. What say you, Mr. Binks? am I right?”
“Never know’d you to be wrong, sir,” said the mate, with an honest intonation of voice, as he tried to stare the sun out of countenance in following the captain’s glance.
“Hélas!” said the young mother, with a little sigh of sadness, as she stood peering over the lee rail to the green hills and slopes of the island, standing boldly out now with the lofty blue mountains cutting the sky ten thousand feet in mid-heaven; “so near, too; and he is thinking and waiting for us!”
“Come,” exclaimed the skipper, heartily, “the youngster wants his breakfast!”
“WHEN THE WIND COMES FROM GOOD SAN ANTONIO, MY LADY BIRD––”