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Captain Weaver faintly smiled, slightly glancing at Admiral Lawrence. "He can control himself," said Captain Acton. "Did you observe, Lucy, that he refused all refreshments last night? Now, a man who is radically and incurably a sot cannot view a decanter of anything to drink, and the stronger the worse, without thirsting[Pg 77] for it. And did ever such a man say no to an invitation to drink with the liquor standing up in a bottle in front of him?" "I beg pardon," interrupted Mr Eagle, "but before you go on I should like to say that I am only mate of this ship and take no interest lyin' outside the sphere of my duties that don't consarn me.".

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It was apparently a morning half-holiday with Old Harbour Town. Groups stood or walked about the wharves in talk. Most of the people respectfully saluted the ladies and the Admiral, who, one or another, had for every other person a kindly sentence or a pleasant smile. Standing in the gangway of the Minorca was Mr Lawrence, who had manifestly seen the party approaching, though himself had been hidden from them by the interposition of the main shrouds. He crossed the planks which connected the ship with the shore, and stood with his hat in his hand as though they were royalty. He put the pup tenderly down beside its mother and went out behind the wood-pile to wait for Anse. He wanted to tell him that he forgave him for being such a low-down tattle-tale and the meanest brother that ever lived. That's what she would have him do, he knew. He was a changed being. If he was to win her love, he was going to be worthy. She belonged to a race whose extinction Francis Grose lamented. She was what was termed an antiquated gentlewoman whose dress was a survival of the fashion of two if not three earlier generations: consisting of a stiff-starched cap and hood, a little hoop and a rich silk damask gown with large flowers. She acted as housekeeper to her brother, and the keys of the cupboards jingled at her side. She was choice in her stores, which included cordial waters, cherry and raspberry brandy, Daffy's Elixir, pots of currant jelly and raspberry jam, and her stock also comprised salves, electuaries, and purges for the poor. When she walked she leaned, perhaps a little affectedly, on an ivory-handled crutch stick, and a fat pug dog rolled in her wake. This pug now snored alongside of her, and the[Pg 66] little terrier slept with its paws upon the pug's stomach. "Gosh, is that what they be, Bill? Yep, I see 'em.".