“Hist!” said the twin.
We heard only the ominous mutter and sigh of the gust departing.
“Jacky,” said the skipper, anxiously, “what was you thinkin’ you heared, b’y?”
Jacky fidgetted in his seat. “’Twas like the mail-boat’s whistle, zur,” he answered, “but ’twas sort o’ hoarser.”
“Why, lad,” said the skipper, “the mail-boat’s not handy by two hundred miles! ’Twas but the wind.”
But he scratched his head in a puzzled way.
“Ay, maybe, zur,” Jacky replied, still alert for a sound from the sea, “but ’twas not like the wind.”
Skipper Tommy held up his hand. “Ay,” said he, when we had listened a long time, “’twas but the wind.”
“Ay,” said we all, “’twas but the wind.”
“Ah, well, Davy,” the skipper resumed, “she cast a hook, as I was sayin’, an’ I nibbled.”