He went grumbling up to the galley, and, lighting some sticks, put the kettle on, and then descended to the cabin, starting with genuine surprise as he saw the skipper sitting opposite a pretty girl, who was leaning back in her seat fast asleep.
“Cook’ll be sorry ’e missed this,” he murmured, as he lighted up and began briskly to set the table. He ran up on deck again to see how his fire was progressing, and thrusting his head down the forecastle communicated the exciting news to Bill.
To Fraser sitting watching his sleeping guest it seemed like a beautiful dream. That Poppy Tyrell should be sitting in his cabin and looking to him as her only friend seemed almost incredible. A sudden remembrance of Flower subdued at once the ardour of his gaze, and he sat wondering vaguely as to the whereabouts of that erratic mariner until his meditations were broken by the entrance of the boy with the steaming coffee, followed by Bill bearing a couple of teaspoons.
“I nearly went to sleep,” said Poppy, as Fraser roused her gently.
She took off her hat and jacket, and Fraser, taking them from her, laid them reverently in his bunk. Then Poppy moved farther along the seat, and, taking some coffee pronounced herself much refreshed.
“I’ve been very rude to you,” she said, softly; “but Mrs. Wheeler was very unkind, and said that of course I should go to you. That was why.”
“Mrs. Wheeler is—” began Fraser, and stopped suddenly.
“Of course it was quite true,” said Poppy, healthfully attacking her plate; “I did have to come to you.”
“It was rather an odd way of coming,” said Fraser; “my legs ache now.”
The girl laughed softly, and continued to laugh. Then her eyes moistened, and her face became troubled. Fraser, as the best thing to do, made an excuse and went up on deck, to the discomfort of Bill and the boy, who were not expecting him.