These ancient sea dogs, on such a day as
this, were unfailingly found "walking the poop" of their front
yards, or wherever they could take their diurnal exercise,
binoculars or spyglass in hand, their vision more often fixed
seaward than on the land.
Cap'n Ira had scarcely put the glass to his eye for a first squint
at his "position" when he exclaimed:
"I swan! That's a master-pretty sight. I ain't seen a prettier in
many a day. Come here and look at this craft, Prudence."
She hurried to join him. Her motions when she was on her feet were
birdlike, yet there was the same unsteadiness in her walk as in
Cap'n Ira's. Only, at the moment, he did not see it, for his eye was
glued to the telescope.
"What do you see, Ira?" she asked.
"Clap this glass to your eye," said her husband. He steadied the
telescope, having pointed it for her. "See that suit of sails? Ain't
they grand? And the taper of them masts? She's a bird!"
"Why, what schooner is it?" asked Prudence. "I never saw her before,
did I? She's bearing in for the cove."
"I cal'late she is," agreed Cap'n Ira. "And I cal'late by the
newness of that suit of sails and her lines and all that she's Tunis
Latham's new craft that he went up to Marblehead last week to bring
down here and put into commission.
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