"Why didn't you waken me when you came up here?" he asked reproachfully, and the old keeper replied:
"I allowed it would do you more good to sleep, Sonny, for you had what might be called a hard day, an' needed all the rest that could be scooped in."
"It was you and Mr. Peters who had the hard day, sir. I did nothing but idle the time away."
"Stayin' inside was the worst part of the whole job, Sonny. If a man can work he's all right; but when it comes that there's nothin' to be done, he reg'larly eats his heart out worryin'. What are you an' me goin' to do from now till sunrise?"
"Suppose you tell me some more sea stories?"
"All right, Sonny, if that's what you want, an' I only hope I'll always be able to satisfy you as easy. This'll be a great year for me; but I reckon I'll be a terrible lonesome old man after you go away."
"There is no good reason for looking ahead so far as that, sir, for no one knows what may happen before father comes back, so we'll get all the pleasure we can now," Sidney said as he seated himself on the old man's knee.
"You're right, Sonny. It's almost wicked for me to be thinkin' of anything but the fact that we're to have you with us nigh to twelve months longer than I thought yesterday at this time could possibly be the case."
Then Captain Eph drew upon his memory for some of the wildest and weirdest yarns that were ever spun during a northeast gale, and the time came for extinguishing the light before Sidney realized that he had been awake more than half an hour.
The morning's work was done, and breakfast made ready, while the survivors of the wreck were yet asleep, and Captain Eph would not allow Uncle Zenas to awaken the slumberers, claiming that it was far better the cook should do a little additional work, than deprive the unfortunate men of the rest they needed.