“I am sorry that Nelly is away, for I have brought her some shells I promised her a month ago. But as I have nothing to do, I will bide with you till she comes back.”
“She and granny won’t be back till late, I am afraid, and you lose your time staying here,” said Michael.
“Never mind, I will lend you a hand,” said Eban, making his punt fast, and stepping on board the “Wild Duck.”
He was a fine, handsome, broad-shouldered lad, with dark eyes and hair, and with a complexion more like that of an inhabitant of the south than of an English boy.
He took up a mop as he spoke, whisking up the bits of seaweed and fish-scales which covered the bottom of the boat.
“Thank you,” said Michael; “I won’t ask you to stop, for I must go and turn in and get some sleep. Father does not seem very well, and I shall have more work in the evening.”
“What is the matter with Uncle Paul?” asked Eban.
Michael told him that he had been complaining since the morning, but he hoped the night’s rest would set him to rights.
“You won’t want to go to sea to-night. It’s blowing hard outside, and likely to come on worse,” observed Eban.
Though he called Paul “uncle,” there was no relationship. He merely used the term of respect common in Cornwall when a younger speaks of an older man.