“They are waiting for the sea-breeze,” said the priest. “No getting in till chocolate.”
“No,” said Margaret. “Now take me, please, to find a spade.”
“You are not a privateer?” the priest asked. “You do not sack us?”
“No,” he answered. “I am not a pirate. I demand the right to trade, and the recognition of Andria, King of Darien.”
“Don Andria,” the priest said. “Ah? Don Andria, the King. And so we are not sacked.”
“Now let us find a spade.”
They searched for half an hour before they found a spade.
“We do not use spades,” the priest said. “We tickle the earth with our toes and it laughs fruits for us.”
“I will lay him here, West,” Margaret said. “Looking towards England.”
“Sir,” the priest said, “he was a good Catholic. He must look towards the east.”