“Jacky,” I burst out, in disgust, turning to the twins, “I just knowed he’d get t’ wonderin’!”
Skipper Tommy started: he grew shamefaced, all in a moment; and he seemed now first conscious of guilty wishes.
“Timmie,” said Jacky, hoarsely, from the doorway, “she’ve writ.”
“Ay, Jacky,” Timmie echoed, “she’ve certain gone an’ done it.”
They entered.
“I been—sort o’—gettin’ a letter, lads,” the skipper stammered: a hint of pride in his manner. “It come ashore,” he added, with importance, “from the mail-boat.”
“Dad,” Timmie asked, sorrowfully, “is you been askin’ Davy t’ read that letter?”
“Well, no, Timmie,” the skipper drawled, tweaking his nose; “’tisn’t quite so bad. But I been wonderin’——”
“Oh, is you!” Jacky broke in. “Timmie,” said he, grinning, “dad’s been wonderin’!”
“Is he?” Timmie asked, assuming innocence. “Wonderin’?”