“Well, then, harken,” he said, and began to read sulkily and at a great pace:
“Into the lap of the fair lady who holdeth the whole heart of a great sailor in her sweet keeping, these fineries and divers other useful objects are munificently poured.
“Prithee deck thyself, wench, for the delight of thy noble and honourable admirer—Dick Delfazio, Captain of the Coldlight.”
“Did ever you hear such sithering foolishness?” he concluded.
But neither Anny nor Cip was looking at him; at the last words of the letter they had turned to each other in mutual surprise and admiration.
“Ah!” said old Cip, leaning back on his bench. “Wonderful way he has wi’ words and wenches. Damn me if they two don’t go pretty well together,” he added thoughtfully.
Anny sighed with delight and turned to Hal.
“Oh! isn’t it a fine letter,” she exclaimed happily. “Will I have to write one back?”
Hal looked up, and the expression on his boyish face made her pause in her happiness, and turn to him anxiously.
“Anny Farran, what are you making of yourself?” he began slowly, his young imagination magnifying the occasion until he felt himself the injured lover leading his frail betrothed away from the pretty walks of folly.