"All right," he said at last. "Will you come in my ship or will you have a ship of your own?"
"I'd rather come in your ship, please."
"All right," he said. "Well, you're in my ship. Come on."
She walked along by his side. The best part of Joan was that she asked very few questions.
"We're probably goin' to come to a desert island, soon," said William. "I speck we shall come to a desert island soon if we got through these icebergs all right. There's a pretty awful wind blowin', isn't there—lashin' the sails an' tackin' an' all that an' no land in sight an' all these whales an' things all about?"
"Yes, William," said Joan obediently.
"You'd better be chief mate," William advised. "I'll be skipper. You don't see any land in sight, do you, mate?"
Joan gazed at the road before them, the hedges around them, the cow's head above the hedge, and the figure of the Vicar in the distance.
"No, Will—I mean skipper," she said.
William heaved a sigh of relief. For a minute he had thought she was going to fail him.