"''Twill make no difference in the end,' said he quietly.
"I speak of it calmly now; but when I found myself alone in the cabin with that poor madman—found myself behind the counter, with no defensive weapon at hand, with my life in the care of my wits, which are neither sharp nor ready—I was in no condition for calm thought. To hail the skipper was out of the question; he would not hear me, and the first shout would doubtless excite the big man in the moleskin clothes beyond restraint. My hope of escape lay in distracting his attention from the matter in hand until the skipper should come aft of his own notion. But I made one effort in another direction.
"'Did you say green silk thread or blue?' said I.
"'I said green, sir.'
"'Did you, now?' I exclaimed. 'Sure, I thought you said blue. We've no blue, but we've the green, and you'll be able to lash the fairies to the spruce trees, after all.'
"As a matter of fact, we had a few spools of silk thread, and one of them was green—a bad stock, as I knew to my cost, for I had long been trying to dispose of them.
"''Tis too late,' said he.
"'No, no!' said I. 'You'll surely not be letting the fairies drive you like that. You can take the green thread and lash them all up on the way home.'
"'No,' he said doggedly; ''tis too late. What they told me to do I must do before the clock strikes.'