“Whish!” cried Mrs Gilmour playfully. “None of your blarney!”
“Oh, Bob!” exclaimed Nellie, interposing at this juncture, while they still all stood talking together in front of the house, neither Mrs Gilmour nor the ‘old commodore’ having yet given the signal for sailing, “she has got such a dear little place of her own.”
“Who’s ‘she’—the cat’s mother, Nell?”
Nellie laughed.
“I mean the old lady who had the broken eggs.”
“Aye,” put in the Captain, “and who nearly had broken legs likewise!”
This made Nellie laugh again.
“Oh, you know who I mean very well, Bob,” said she, when she had ceased to giggle. “She has got the dearest little cottage, you ever saw. It is fitted up just like the cabin of a ship inside; her husband, who was a ship’s carpenter, having done it all. Why, the walls are covered with Chinese pictures and shells and curios which he picked up in all sorts of outlandish places, bringing them home after his various voyages. Oh, Bob, you never saw such funny things.”
“Didn’t the woman say something of having an invalid daughter?” inquired the Captain. “I think I heard her speak of one yesterday at the station.”
“Yes, poor thing,” said Mrs Gilmour. “She’s got spinal complaint, and we saw her lying on the sofa in the queer little parlour crammed with curiosities that Nell took such a fancy to. She seems a very nice girl, so happy and contented although in such a helpless state! Her old mother, whom I know you thought fussy and selfish, is quite devoted to her.”