“Oh, about heaps and heaps of things. I couldn’t tell you in a month all I think about; but one thing I think most about is a man-of-war.”
“A man-of-war, Sall?”
“Yes; I would give anything to see a man-of-war, what you’ve so often told us about, with all its masts and sails, and bunks and guns and anchors, and officers and men. I often wonder so much what new faces would be like. You see I’m so used to the faces of yourself and Mr Young, and Mainmast and Susannah, and Toc and Matt and Dan and—”
“Just say the rest o’ the youngsters, dear,” interrupted Adams. “There’s no use in goin’ over ’em all by name.”
“Well, I’m so used to them that I can’t fancy how any other faces can be different, and yet I heard Mr Young say the other day that there’s no two faces in the world exactly alike, and you know there must be hundreds and hundreds of faces in the world.”
“Ay, there’s thousands and thousands—for the matter o’ that, there’s millions and millions of ’em—an it’s quite true that you can’t ever pick out two that would fit into the same mould. Of course,” continued Adams, in an argumentative tone, “I’m not goin’ for to say but that you could find a dozen men any day with hook noses an’ black eyes an’ lanky hair, just as you can find another dozen with turn-up noses an’ grey eyes an’ carroty hair; but what I mean to say is, that you won’t find no two of ’em that han’t got a difference of some sort somewheres. It’s very odd, but it’s a fact.”
“Another puzzler,” said Sally, with a laugh.
“Just so. But what else do you think about, Sall?”
“Sometimes I think about those fine ladies you’ve told us of, who drive about in grand carriages with horses. Oh, these horses; what I would give to see horses! Have they got tails, father?”
“Tails!” cried Adams, with a laugh, “of course they have; long hairy ones, and manes too; that’s hair down the back o’ their necks, dear. See here, fetch me that bit of red stone and I’ll draw you a horse.”