"What for shouldn't we gerr away to Shetlands?" he said.
"Why to Shetlands?" asked Dan.
"Aw, it's safe and well we'll be when we're there. Aw, yes, I've been there afore to-day. They're all poor men there, but right kind; and what's it sayin', 'When one poor man helps another poor man, God laughs.'"
Dan thought he saw into the heart of the old fellow. His throat grew hard and his eyes dim, and he twisted his face away, keeping one hand on the tiller. They should yet be justified of their loyalty, these stout sea-dogs—yes, God helping him.
"No, no, Billy," he said, "there's to be no running away. We're going back to see it out."
At that old Quilleash threw off some of his reserve.
"Mastha Dan," he said, "we came out to sea just to help you out of this jeel, and because we've shared work, shared meat with you, and a frien' should stand to a frien'; but now we're in for it too, so we are, and what you'll have to stand to we'll have to stand to, and it'll be unknownst to the law as we are innocent as kittens; and so it's every man for himself and God for us all."
Then Dan understood them—how had he been blind so long to their position?
"You want me to put about; is that it?" he asked.
Old Quilleash nodded his head, still keeping his eyes down.