‘“I know,” she says. “That’s why I be come.”
‘“But ye never foretold this”; he points to both they great fleets.
‘“This don’t seem to me to make much odds compared to what happens to a man,” she says. “Do it?”
‘“Certain sure a man forgets to remember when he’s proper mucked up with work. Sim,” he says to me, “we must shift every living Spanisher round Dunkirk corner on to our Dutch sands before morning. The wind’ll come out of the North after this calm--same as it used--and then they’re our meat.”
‘“Amen,” says I. “I’ve brought you what I could scutchel up of odds and ends. Be you hit anywhere to signify?”
‘“Oh, our folk’ll attend to all that when we’ve time,” he says. He turns to talk to my Aunt, while his men flew the stuff out of our hold. I think I saw old Moon amongst ‘em, but he was too busy to more than nod like. Yet the Spanishers was going to prayers with their bells and candles before we’d cleaned out the ANTONY. Twenty-two ton o’ useful stuff I’d fetched him. ‘“Now, Sim,” says my Aunt, “no more devouring of Mus’ Drake’s time. He’s sending us home in the Bridport hoy. I want to speak to them young springalds again.”
‘“But here’s our ship all ready and swept,” I says.
‘“Swep’ an’ garnished,” says Frankie. “I’m going to fill her with devils in the likeness o’ pitch and sulphur. We must shift the Dons round Dunkirk corner, and if shot can’t do it, we’ll send down fireships.”
‘“I’ve given him my share of the ANTONY,” says my Aunt. “What do you reckon to do about yours?”
‘“She offered it,” said Frankie, laughing.
‘“She wouldn’t have if I’d overheard her,” I says; “because I’d have offered my share first.” Then I told him how the ANTONY’s sails was best trimmed to drive before the wind, and seeing he was full of occupations we went acrost to that Bridport hoy, and left him.
‘But Frankie was gentle-born, d’ye see, and that sort they never overlook any folks’ dues.
‘When the hoy passed under his stern, he stood bare-headed on the poop same as if my Aunt had been his Queen, and his musicianers played “Mary Ambree” on their silver trumpets quite a long while. Heart alive, little maid! I never meaned to make you look sorrowful!
‘Bunny Lewknor in his sackcloth petticoats burst through the birch scrub wiping his forehead.