Putting one of the pieces between his lips, he shook his head with rather a disgusted expression, as though the flavor were anything but agreeable, then tried another and another (the woman meantime regarding him with speechless amazement), till at last, holding out a strip and smacking his lips, he exclaimed:
"I have it! This is it! It's as salt as brine!"
"Good land!" she cried; "salt! who ever heard of such a thing,—and in my rag-bag? How could that be?"
Don paid no attention to her. Tasting another piece, that proved on closer examination to be of the same material, he found it to be equally salt.
His face displayed a comical mixture of nausea and delight as he sprang to his feet, crying out:
"Oh! ma'am, I can never thank you enough. These are the pieces of Ellen Lee's gown, I am confident—unless they have been salted in some way since you've had them."
"Not they, sir; I can warrant that. But who under the canopy ever thought of the taste of a shipwrecked gown before!"
"Smell these," he said, holding the pieces toward her. "Don't you notice a sort of salt-sea odor about them?"
"Not a bit," she answered, emphatically, shaking her head. Then, still cautiously sniffing at the pieces, she added: "Indeed and I do fancy so now. It's faint, but it's there, sir. Fifteen years ago! How salt does cling to things! The poor woman must have been pulled out of the very sea!"
"That doesn't follow," remarked Donald: "her skirt might have been soaked by the splashing of the waves after she was let down into the small boat."