"Come, Tunis. Do sit down or that gal won't be able to dish up
supper, and I'm as hungry as a wolf. Pull up your chair, Prudence.
Ain't this livin', I want to know?" He shuddered luxuriously at the
howl and rattle of the wind without. "Now, folks: 'For that with
which we are about to be blessed make us truly thankful. Amen.' Put
your teeth in one o' them biscuit, Tunis. I want to recommend 'em
to you. Ain't none better on this endurin' Cape--no, sir. We got the
best cook on the Head. If you are ever lucky enough to get one ha'f
as good, Tunis--"
"Now, you be still, Ira," admonished Prudence, smiling comfortingly
at the blushing girl.
"You better sing small, Cap'n Ira," said the skipper of the _Seamew_
hoarsely. "It's mebbe just because we're good-natured and forbearing
that you are keeping your cook for a while."
"Ha! So that's the way the wind blows, eh?" croaked Cap'n Ira. "You
talk big, young man. But we know Sheila better than you do, p'r'aps.
Don't we, Prue?"
His little old wife, with her winter-apple face wrinkled in a smile
of utter confidence, leaned nearer Sheila to pat her hand. The girl
seized the wrinkled claw suddenly and pressed it with both of
hers--pressed it gratefully and with a full-charged heart.
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