"Oh, is that the way? she'll have hard work to do it, I should think."
"She won't growl any way."
"No, I suppose not. Which is the captain, Ru.?"
"That nice jolly looking chap over yonder, that's giving orders in such a loud peremptory tone, is Captain Wells, master of the ship; that blue eyed, brown haired, rosy cheeked stripling standing near is his son, Edward Wells; and they're both English; so don't remind them that this vessel was taken from the British in the last war."
"Of course not, unless they say something mean or exasperating about Washington or America."
"In that case I give you leave to twit 'em as hard as you like."
"Who was that nice looking man that helped us on board? I thought father or somebody called him captain."
"So he is, Captain Jones; but acting as first mate here. That lady, talking to mother and Aunt Wealthy, is his wife. They're both Yankees; so you can relieve your mind occasionally on the subject of the ship, by a little private exultation with them.
"Do you notice the contrast between those two faces?—mother's and Mrs. Jones'; hers so dark, mother's so beautifully fair and rosy."
"Who could help noticing it? Rupert, I do think our mother has just the loveliest face in the world!"