In the open door-way of a little cottage, warmed by the soft slanting rays of the September sun, a rough man, burnt and freckled, was sitting, at his feet a net, engaged upon some handiwork which two little girls were watching. Close by him lay a setter, his nose between his paws. Occasionally the man raised his eyes to scan the sea.
“There’s Joel,” he said, “comin’ in around the Bar. Not much air stirrin’ now!”
Then he turned to his work again.
“First, you go so fash’,” he said to the children, as he drew a thread; “then you go so fash’.”
And as he worked he made a great show of labor, much to their diversion.
But the sight of Joel’s broad white sail had not brought pleasant thoughts to his mind. For Joel had hailed him, off the Shoal, the afternoon before, and had obligingly offered to buy his fish, right there, and so let him go directly home, omitting to mention that sudden jump of price due to an empty market.
“Wonder what poor man he’s took a dollar out of to-day! Well, I s’pose it’s all right: those that’s got money, want money.”
“What be you, Eli—ganging on hooks?” said Aunt Patience, as she tip-toed into the kitchen behind him, from his wife’s sick-room, and softly closed the door after her.
“No,” said the elder of the children; “he’s mending our stockings, and showing me how.”