"You have not yet asked my consent," Mrs. Gray reminded him.
"I didn't think I'd have to," answered Mr. Beardsley. "I reckoned you were like all the other women folks—ready and willing to do anything for the cause."
"But if Marcy should be killed—"
"Aw! He aint going to be killed," exclaimed the visitor rudely. "Don't I tell you that we'll run the minute we sight a war-vessel."
"But you might run aground and they might capture you," answered Mrs. Gray, who knew as well as anybody how dangerous the coast was, even to those who were acquainted with it. "And if Marcy should be sent to prison, as he would if he were taken on board an armed schooner, what would become of me? My oldest boy is at sea, and it is my desire to keep Marcy with me as much as I can."
"He can run up and see you when we come into port, which will be as often as we take a prize, or see signs of a blow in the clouds outside," said Mr. Beardsley, putting on his hat, and getting upon his feet. "Come down and see the schooner, Marcy. Stop at my house, and I'll show you right where she is."
"How soon do you start?"
"Some time this week, I hope. The sooner we get outside the better our chances will be. That's why I say, make hay while the sun shines. Two or three hauls will make us so rich that we needn't do no more work the longest day we live."
"And will you feel no sorrow for those who lose their property, and perhaps their all, through your efforts to enrich yourself?" asked Mrs. Gray.
"That's why I say that one man's pizen is another man's meat," replied
Beardsley. "Not a mite of sorrow will I feel for them Yankees. Let them
come under our flag if they want protection. When will you be along,
Marcy?"