“Not a bit like America anywhere,” said Kirke, “and I’m glad of it. We came here to see something new.”
It was late in the afternoon when The Happy Six and their elders reached the fishing village where they were to spend the night. Its gray stone inn was more than two hundred years old, and like many inns in Europe had once been a castle. There were no carpets, but the floors were spotlessly white, and the copper saucepans and kettles in the kitchen shone through the windows of the room as the setting sun shone through the ruins on the neighboring cliff.
After dinner the gentlemen and lads of the company prowled about these ruins in the twilight, while Pauline and Molly chatted in the inn parlor with three young English girls boarding with their mother in the house.
Miss Evans, wearing the alligator-skin bag, as was her habit, came in to read by the lamp upon the centre-table; but, after Weezy and Donald were in bed, went to assist Mrs. Rowe in the care of Jane Leonard, who was now suffering severely from headache.
The next day Jane could not raise her head from the pillow. Mrs. Rowe and Miss Evans sat with her by turns, while Donald was left to the care of the rest of the party.
This disposal of himself suited his little lordship, for, everybody’s business being nobody’s, he was allowed to run at large, and within certain limits do about as he pleased.
Captain Bradstreet, Paul, and Kirke had set out early for another peep at the ruins, and as soon as the dew was off the grass Donald slipped away from his father, lounging in front of the hotel, and trudged behind Weezy and the older girls toward the sea.
The beaten path which they followed ended abruptly at the smooth, flat cobble-stones of the shelving beach. Here stood a row of disabled old fishing-boats, drawn up above the dashing of the tide and fashioned into rude cottages, each with a thatched roof, narrow door, and two or three small windows.
It was in these tiny buildings that the fishermen stored their wares. As the children drew near, fish-wives were sitting upon the door-steps of some of the boat-houses, netting seines of coarse green twine. A few of the women wore starched white caps with wide, flopping borders. The rest were bare-headed, and the sun stared saucily down at their shiny red faces.
“Let’s speak to the best-looking one, Pauline,” suggested Molly, as they sauntered along the row of women.