"The will of the good God be done, sir. I'd go a-doing of my duty."
"You're an honest fellow, Loggan; shake hands with me."
"That I will, Mr. Wyndham. What are you doing with that rope, sir? It's cold, it's slippery—oh, the knot has got loose, I'll call a man to tighten it, sir; let me—let me. You'll be over, sir, if you don't look out; we're going to lunge this way. Take care, sir—take care—for God's sake, take care!"
Wyndham took care.
CHAPTER XXXII.
The summer came early that year. The rectory was a charming place in the summer, and on this particular bright day in June one of the numerous school-feasts was in course of preparation, and all the young Wyndhams were working with a will and energy which could scarcely be surpassed. The feast was in full progress; the village children consumed tea and buns, as only village children can. Augusta was refusing to help the babies to any more; Joan and Betty were half-crying because she snatched the rich currant buns out of their hands; Marjory was leading the most obstreporous members of her flock away to the other end of the long meadow, where they could play orange and lemons, nuts in May, and other festive games; and Lilias, as she helped to pack away the remnants of the feast, was answering some questions of Carr's.
"We ought to have heard by now," she was saying. "My father is a little uneasy, but I am not—at least, of course, I am anxious for Valentine. The suspense must be very trying for her!"
"When did your brother's ship sail?"
"On the 25th of March."