"Good-morning," replied the owner's son, civilly enough, as he looked over the person addressing him, who appeared to be a young man not more than eighteen years old.
"What steamer is that?" continued the stranger, pointing to the steam-yacht.
Christy looked at his interlocutor, who was a pleasant-looking young man, though there was something which did not appear to be quite natural in his expression; and he suspected that he had been placed at the landing to interrogate him or some other person from the steamer, in regard to her character and nationality. Possibly he derived this idea from the fact that he had himself been employed on a similar duty at St. George.
"Do you mean that schooner?" asked Christy carelessly, as he pointed at a vessel much nearer the shore than the Bellevite.
"No, not at all," replied the stranger. "I mean that steamer, off to the north-east," replied the young man, pointing out into the bay.
"North-east?" added the owner's son. "That is this way;" and he turned about, and directed his finger towards the interior of the island. "That would put the craft you mean on the shore, wouldn't it?"
"Not a bit of it! I don't mean that way. Don't you know the points of the compass?"
"I learned them when I was young, but I forget them now."
"Pray how old are you, my friend?" asked the stranger, who thought his companion was stupid enough to answer any question he might put to him.
"I was forty-two yesterday; and in a year from yesterday, I shall be forty-three, if I don't die of old age before that time," replied Christy, looking the other full in the face, and with as serious an expression as he could command.