"Ah, Providence es very good, sonnies," repeated Cap'n Jack, then, turning to me, he said, "You'll be wantin' to know who this es?"
There was an expression of assent.
"Some ov 'ee do knaw un, I reckon. Ah, Ikey Trethewy, I see you do, and so do you, Zacky Bunny. This, sonnies, is Maaster Jasper Pennington. You've 'eerd me spaik about un. Well, 'ee's a-goin' to jine us, laistways, 'ee's a-goin' to Kynance to-night jist to zee, ya knaw. There, you'd better be off, 'cipt Ikey Trethewy. He's near 'ome, 'ee is. Wait outside a minnit, my deears, we'll be out in a minnit."
All left the inner cave except Ikey Trethewy, who stood watching us as if in wonder.
Cap'n Jack hunted around the cave for a few seconds until he found an inkhorn and a pen. "I do like to kip things handy," he said; "nobody do knaw what'll 'appen." Then, turning to Ikey Trethewy, he said, "You do knaw of a young woman who do live up to Pennington—a young woman jist come there, called Penryn, I speck, Ikey, my deear?"
Ikey nodded.
"Have 'ee got a bit ov paper, sonny?"
"No, Cap'n."
"Ah, tha's awkard. This 'll do, I 'spect—a bit of the prayer-book. I allays like to carry a prayer-book weth me, 'tes oncommon lucky. There, Jasper Pennington, write."
I dipped the pen into the inkhorn, and put the paper which he had torn from the prayer-book on a flat, smooth piece of slatestone. "What?" I asked.