CHAPTER XLVII
HOW MY DOUBTING WAS RESOLVED FOR ME
The sun being high-risen and myself famished with hunger, I set off for our habitation by paths well-hid from observation and yearning mightily to find my lady there. Having scaled the cliff I reached the little plateau, and parting the bushes, recoiled from the muzzle of a piece levelled at me by a squat, grim fellow.
"What, Godby!" says I, frowning, "D'ye take me for murderer still, then?" At this he let fall his musket in blank amaze, and then came running and with hands outstretched.
"O pal!" cries he, "O pal—have I found ye at last? Ha, many's the time I've grieved for ye and my fool's doubts o' you, Martin, choke me else? I'm sorry, pal, burn me but I've repented my suspecting o' you ever since, though to be sure you was mighty strange aboard the 'Faithful Friend' and small wonder. But here's me full o' repentance, Martin, so—if you can forgive poor Godby—?"
"Full and freely!" says I, whereupon he hugs me and the tears running down his sunburned cheeks.
"Then we'm pals again, Martin, and all's bowmon!"
"And what o' me?" Turning about I beheld Adam on the threshold of the cave, "What o' me, shipmate?"
"Aye—what?" says I, folding my arms.
"Ha, doth the tap o' my pistol-butt smart yet, Martin?"