She saw there an old man, wearing a fisherman's jersey and hat, seated by the fireside smoking, whilst a woman was ironing by the window. Two younger men lounged by the fire talking.
Winefred was roughly repulsed by the woman when she opened her box, but the old man put in a word: 'Nay, Bessie! Buy a trifle of the maid just to encourage her.'
'Are you David Nutall?' asked the girl.
'If I'm not mistaken,' he answered.
Winefred drew the letter from her bosom, and put it into his hand.
'What?' he asked quickly. 'From the cap'n?'
The young men at once brightened.
'Yes, from the captain.'
The young men drew round the elder, their father. It was too dark at the hearth for them to read the letter, and the old man rose and went to the window. He studied the letter with knitted brows, but could not make much out of it. He called the lads to him.
'Ah, father,' said one, 'I can make out what is printed, but not fist-writing.'