Here she had me on a tender point.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Kit, I think not,” said I.
“Are you a seaman, then?” she asked.
“I’d give my soul to be one.”
“Your soul! It would be cheap at the price.”
“I don’t know what that means,” said I; “but if your ladyship will put the helm a wee taste more to port, we will catch the breeze better—so, so. Keep her at that!”
We slipped merrily through the water for a while; but it made me uneasy to see the clouds sweeping past us overhead, and feel the sting of a drop or two on my cheek.
I hitched the sheet a little closer, and came astern again to where she sat.
“You’ll need to let me take her,” said I; “there’s a squall behind us.”
“What of that?” said she. “Can I not steer through a squall?”