‘This is Cap’n Kibbs, sir, a distant relation of father’s,’ she said. ‘And this is Mrs. Kibbs. We’ve come up from the island wi’en just for a trip, and are going to sail back wi’en Wednesday.’
‘O, I see. And where are you staying?’
‘Here—on board.’
‘What, you live on board entirely?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lord, sir,’ broke in Mrs. Kibbs, ‘I should be afeard o’ my life to tine my eyes among these here kimberlins at night-time; and even by day, if so be I venture into the streets, I nowhen forget how many turnings to the right and to the left ‘tis to get back to Job’s vessel—do I, Job?’
The skipper nodded confirmation.
‘You are safer ashore than afloat,’ said Pierston, ‘especially in the Channel, with these winds and those heavy blocks of stone.’
‘Well,’ said Cap’n Kibbs, after privately clearing something from his mouth, ‘as to the winds, there idden much danger in them at this time o’ year. ‘Tis the ocean-bound steamers that make the risk to craft like ours. If you happen to be in their course, under you go—cut clane in two pieces, and they never lying-to to haul in your carcases, and nobody to tell the tale.’
Pierston turned to Avice, wanting to say much to her, yet not knowing what to say. He lamely remarked at last: ‘You go back the same way, Avice?’