It seemed to the skipper a favorable omen that Miss Jewell descended the companion-ladder as though to the manner born; and her exclamations of delight at the cabin completed his satisfaction. The cook, who had followed them below with some trepidation, became reassured, and seating himself on a locker joined modestly in the conversation.
“It's like a doll's-house,” declared the girl, as she finished by examining the space-saving devices in the state-room. “Well, I mustn't take up any more of your time.”
“I've got nothing to do,” said the skipper, hastily. “I—I was thinking of going for a walk; but it's lonely walking about by yourself.”
Miss Jewell agreed. She lowered her eyes and looked under the lashes at the skipper.
“I never had a sister,” continued the latter, in melancholy accents.
“I don't suppose you would want to take her out if you had,” said the girl.
The skipper protested. “Bert takes you out,” he said.
“He isn't like most brothers,” said Miss Jewell, shifting along the locker and placing her hand affectionately on the cook's shoulder.
“If I had a sister,” continued the skipper, in a somewhat uneven voice, “I should take her out. This evening, for instance, I should take her to a theatre.”
Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face of a child. “It would be nice to be your sister,” she said, calmly.