The Captain put his head a bit on one side, and trailed the tasseled end of the whip between the colt’s ears. Then he shook his head.
“You’d better not. That’s the safest way. If you want a good sail outside the harbor, I’ll take you for one on a top master, forty foot long, yes, I will. Billy Clewen, the station keeper, has one, and we’ll sail clear out to Tarker’s Light. How’s that?”
“Beautiful,” the girls cried, and Polly added, “Don’t you forget, now.”
“Father never forgets anything,” Mrs. Carey spoke up, contentedly, “excepting his place in the hymn-book, and in the Bible reading for each Sunday.”
Then they all had a good laugh at the Captain, who was famous for losing his place, and would be far ahead or far behind when the congregation were just moving along easily.
“Avast there, where are you bound?” he would whisper to Nancy, and nudge her to show him the right place.
“How’s an old fellow to know where they’re going to bring up next?” he asked, indignantly. “They never hold true to their course, and they are tacking before I know it, and off they go like a herring from a hook.”
“I thought they caught herring in nets,” said Crullers.
“They do,” agreed the Captain, heartily. “And that’s why you can’t make one stay on a hook. They’re the most notional fish I ever saw. I’ve had one get on a hook, and fairly wink me in the eye, and wiggle off again.”
“Benjy Carey!” exclaimed Mrs. Carey, “and you a-coming direct from meeting to tell a yarn like that!”