"I think I will give you the tiller now," I told Sammy.
"If you'll not be minding," he answered.
I am discovering that these people have an inborn sense of courtesy.
Their broad accent, which is a mixture of Scotch and Irish and other
North British sounds, is rather a pleasant one. It was quite evident that
I was to suit myself in the matter of steering the boat. If I objected to
relinquishing the tiller owing to a preference for running up on the
rocks I was entirely welcome, as far as I could judge from Sammy's words.
I am beginning to love the old man.
He took the helm and I swung my arms against my sides, for my muscles
felt just a little bit sore.
"I'd like to do this often," I informed him. "It is fine for one's arms."
"It's sure fine fer the pretty face of yer," he asserted, rather timidly.
"The color on it an' the shinin' in yer eyes is real good to see."
"You are very complimentary," I laughed.
Then the old man looked at me, quite soberly, and I could see that a
misgiving had made its way in his dear old soul.
"I mistrust I doesn't jist know what that means," he said, rather
worried. "Ef it's anythin' bad I'm a-beggin' yer pardon."
"You are a perfect dear, Captain Sammy," I told him. "Indeed it means
something very nice."
Profound relief appeared upon his countenance. I am discovering that in
Sweetapple Cove one must limit one's vocabulary. The old man would
probably not appreciate chocolates, but he deserves them.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80