“Be you goin’, b’y?” said Ruth, looking up from her weaving.
Ezekiel had just come in from Lookout Head, where the watchers had caught sight of the seals, swarming far off in the shadows.
“They’s seals out there,” he said, “but I 78 don’t know as us’ll go the night. ’Tis like the wind’ll haul t’ the west.”
“What do Uncle Tommy Luff say?”
“That ’twill haul t’ the west an’ freshen afore midnight.”
“Sure, then, you’ll not be goin’, b’y?”
“I don’t know as anybody’ll go,” said he. “Looks a bit too nasty for ’em.”
Nevertheless, Ezekiel put some pork and hard-bread in his dunny bag, and made ready his gaff and tow-lines, lest, by chance, the weather should promise fair at midnight.
“Where’s that young scamp?” said Ezekiel, with a smile––a smile which expressed a fine, indulgent affection.
“Now, I wonder where he is?” said Ruth, pausing in her work. “He’ve been gone more’n an hour, sure.”