"We will bring them up. You will see them better here," and they spread the deck with Macro's latest importations.
"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" murmured she, as she turned them over with curious fingers, and held them up to adjudge their style and make. "But they are things of the days before the flood! ... They are too amazing! ... They are wonderful beyond words!"
"Could ye no alter them to your needs, mebbe?" suggested Macro hopefully.
"Perhaps—with needle and thread and scissors. But have you these?"
"Mebbe I can find 'em for ye. There's the cargoes of hunderds o' ships out there. Ye can find a'most anything if ye look long enough. And mebbe there's newer things if I can light on 'em."
"And some shoes and stockings, think you? I would be very glad of them. It feels strange to go with bare feet."
"I'll find 'em if there's any there."
"It is very good of you. I thank you. Could I perhaps come too?"
The idea evidently appealed strongly to him. He looked at her eagerly, and hesitated, but finally said, "It's no easy getting there. There's over six miles' walk through the sand, then near a mile of wading up to your neck in the water, and sometimes a bit of a swim, all according to the tide. Some day, mebbe, I'll mek a bit raft to tek ye across from the point there—just to see what it's like. But ye want these things and I'll get along quicker alone."
"I thank you all the same. It will be for some other time then," and Macro let himself down on to his raft and paddled away to the spit. She stood watching him till he landed and set off at speed towards the point.