“Ah! marm,” replied Mr Lathrope, “don’t you be surprised at anything! I’d advise you never to measure other people’s corns by your own chilblains! Because you happen to set your fancy on a thing, that’s no reason for other folks to do the same!”
“No,” said she; “though I can’t see the application of your remark about chilblains, for I never had one in my life.”
“Ah! that’s a sort of metaphorical conundrum, which I leave you to find out bye and bye! But, if you’d really like to know why I ain’t satisfied with having roast duck to dinner, I’ll tell you; it makes me feel kinder lonesome, it dew!”
“Why!”
“’Cause there ain’t no green peas with it, marm,” said Mr Lathrope, with a melancholy smile. “I guess I’m a whale on peas, I am!”
It was now the end of September; but the month was not fated to pass without another event happening to break the monotonous life of the little party. On its very last day, something occurred which took them all by surprise.
It may be remembered that when Mr Meldrum assumed the command of the party in the place of Captain Dinks, who was still on the sick list and recovering slowly but yet far from well, he established certain regulations for the employment of the men.
Amongst the several duties they had to perform, in accordance with these regulations, was the one of keeping watch, as if on guard, for a certain stated number of hours at the foot of a short flagstaff which had been erected on the top of a little eminence overlooking the beach in front of the creek—a man being stationed here regularly to report anything that might come in sight. This duty, it may be added, had been a sinecure from the date of its institution, nothing having ever since been seen.
On this last day of September, however, all hands were electrified by the look-out man calling out, just about noon.
“Sail ho!”