Hal nodded.
“I had thought as much myself,” he said.
“Depend on it, I’m right,” said Joe, shaking his head sagely, and reshouldering the basket, and they continued thoughtfully up the dusty road.
On turning into the Ship yard they saw the usual company seated on benches before the kitchen door, drinking beer and rum, each man to his fancy.
Old Gilbot’s chair had been moved out into the porch, and he sat in it drunk and happy, singing to his heart’s content.
The two mates were greeted cheerily; Joe sat down and called for rum, but Hal, seeing Blueneck and one or two others of the Anny’s crew among the company, walked into the kitchen, put his cap and coat by, and looked about for Anny.
She was not in the kitchen or the scullery, so presently he wandered out into the garden where the evening shadows lay deep over the plants and shrubs. He sat down on an upturned barrel, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his hands.
Hardly had he been there a moment when there was a rustling in the shrubbery at the end of the garden and Anny, her plaits flying out behind her, sped up the path toward him. She did not notice him, and would have passed had not he put out an arm to stay her.
At his touch the girl gave a little terrified scream and started back like a frightened animal. When she saw who it was, however, she gave a little sigh of relief and a smile crept into her face, while her heart beat faster.
Hal was going to make friends with her at last, she thought, and as she smiled up at him she felt that here was the solution of her difficulties.