"We are rejoiced to see you," said the mother of the juveniles, a stout woman of mixed nationality—that of Dutch apparently predominating. She spoke English, however, remarkably well, as did many of the Cocos people, though Malay is the language of most of them.
The boys and girls soon hauled the captain down on a seat and began to urge him to tell them stories, using a style of English that was by no means equal to that of the mother.
"Stop, stop, let me see sister Kathy first. I can't begin without her. Where is she?"
"Somewhere, I s'pose," said the eldest boy.
"No doubt of that. Go—fetch her," returned the captain.
At that moment a back-door opened, and a girl of about seventeen years of age entered. She was pleasant-looking rather than pretty—tall, graceful, and with magnificent black eyes.
"Here she comes," cried the captain, rising and kissing her. "Why, Kathy, how you've grown since I saw you last! Quite a woman, I declare!"
Kathy was not too much of a woman, however, to join her brothers and sisters in forcing the captain into a seat and demanding a story on the spot.
"Stop, stop!" cried the captain, grasping round their waists a small boy and girl who had already clambered on his knees. "Let me inquire about my old friends first—and let me introduce my son to you—you've taken no notice of him yet! That's not hospitable."
All eyes were turned at once on Nigel, some boldly, others with a shy inquiring look, as though to say, Can you tell stories?