"Uncle," she said, turning suddenly, "do you know that part of the Yankee is there still? A good bit of her stands up out of the water."
She handed the glass to the Skipper, ignoring me by even so much as a glance. The old man put the glass to his eye.
"You're right, Cynthy, girl, you're right; you're perfectly right in what you say. She does stand up, a good deal of her. Gad, how I should like to tread her deck again!"
I looked at the Skipper pityingly. Poor old man! So little left in life, while I felt that mine was just beginning. As the Skipper maundered along about the bark, and what good times he had had in her, and how she and they were gone forever, Cynthia crossed the cave to where I still sat, wondering when the Bo's'n would have finished his task on the shore.
"You mustn't mind what Uncle says," said she.
"Mind it!" I broke in. "I like——"
"Hush, Mr. Jones! No compliments, please. He has aged wonderfully, poor dear, since the Yankee blew up. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to please him. I won't contradict him again. I ought not to have then—I'll try not to mind——"
Her face was pink, her eyes downcast.
"Gad! where is that Bo's'n? I'd like my nip now. Oh, there he is!—Come, come, Bo's'n, I want my toddy! I was just telling Jones here that we're a short time living and——"
I arose from my seat and looked at the Bo's'n, asking my question by only raising my eyebrows. He nodded affirmatively.