"Oh, no," he answered, laughingly recovering himself.
"Das iss mo' betteh," she said demurely, and turned to Hetty.
Taking both her hands in her own, she kissed her impulsively.
"Ah ahm mo' gladdeh faw tow see yo' naw ahnybody," she said. "Ah see nut'ing but doze mens all tam. Ah t'ink Ah go git crezzy," she added laughingly.
They got the brig on her course again, and took the captain of the boat and his two passengers down into the cabin. The captain said his vessel was a Danish bark from Copenhagen, bound for Santa Cruz, and she had been burned two days before. They had taken to their boats, but, as there was no wind, they had lingered near, in the hope that the smoke from the burning vessel would be a beacon for some rescuer. But no vessel had been sighted, and before night came on they had started on their long road. Their other boat had been lost in the fog.
The captain had told his story in fair English, and at its close he turned to his passengers, and said they were going home to Santa Cruz, where the young man, a lieutenant in the army, was stationed. His sister, Miss Stromberg, he added, lived with her brother. As he mentioned their names, he bowed. Both rose, and, passing gravely around the group, shook hands with all. They were much alike—small, dark-haired, with handsome, piquant faces. Life seemed a huge joke to both.
As they seated themselves again, the girl looked about her and smiled.
"Ah t'ink dis iss mo' nizeh naw das liddy boat," she said.
"Mooch mo' nizeh," her brother agreed. He smiled, and bowed to the collected company, beginning with Hetty and ending with her.
"I hope so," said Captain March; then he turned to the Danish captain and added: "I'm glad to get your men; I've already found your vessel."