Uncle William, behind her, smiled benignantly.
“He’s a good sailor,” he said contentedly, “I taught George how to sail a boat myself.”
He leaned forward beside her. The boat had come opposite them—gathering herself for flight. The full sails tightened to the breeze, and the bow rose and dipped in even rhythm.... The girl’s eyes followed it happily.
Uncle William’s hands made a trumpet about his words—“Oh-o—George! Oh-lo-ho!—Ship ahoy!” he bellowed.
The young man looked up. He took off his hat and swung it about his head. The boat was moving faster and the wind blew the hair from his forehead.
“Give him a kind of send-off, Celia!” said Uncle William. He untied the little starched bow of her apron. “Wave it to him,” he said. “It ’ll bring him good luck, mebbe—!”
She pulled at the apron and flung it wide—shaking it up and down with quick little movements that danced.
“That’s the way,” said Uncle William, “That’s right.”
The young man looked up with eager eyes. He leaped on the rail and ran along with quick, light step, waving back. Then he sprang to the stem seat and took the tiller. He was off to the mackerel fleet—with the sun shining overhead—and up on the cliff the girl stood with eager eyes and little freshening curls that blew in the wind.
She tied on the apron soberly and went back to her work.