When we turned into the Anchor Close, we found my father standing
at the house door, smoking his pipe and looking out for us.
"Where has the lad been?" he asked of Jessie before he greeted the
captain.
"I found him up at the dominie's," she explained.
And then she held out her hand to Mr. Gordon.
"Fare ye well, Captain Gordon!" she said; "fare ye well, and a good
voyage to you!"
And she glided past him into the house.
"Was the lass speakin' wi' you, skipper?" asked my father.
"Yes," said Gordon. "She was telling me that my barque's masts are
too high."
"Ay! but it's no' sae often that she'll speak wi' a man. She's a
blate lass wi' maist folk. But what kens she about a vessel's
masts, I wonder?"
My father, with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, then
stepped down to the jetty and looked through the darkness towards
the Lydia.
"Ay, but I'm no that sure about it either, Skipper. The masts are
higher than ordinary. But ye'll come ben the house and smoke a
pipe, maybe?"
"Thank you, pilot, I don't mind--just for a half hour before I go
out to the ship."
My father thereupon led the way within, and placed an easy chair
for Mr. Gordon under the large hurricane lamp that hung from the
low ceiling, and cast its yellow light about the room. The skipper
glanced rapidly at the dark, old-fashioned furniture, at the
high-backed chairs, cushioned with the skins of seals, the strong
teak-wood sideboard, and the heavy round table, upon which stood a
quaint Dutch spirit bottle and a couple of horn drinking cups.
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