And
he was anxious to see whether be could not fulfil a desire he had
once heard Florimel express to her father--that she had a bed on
board, and could sleep there. He found it possible, and had soon
contrived a berth: even a tiny stateroom was within the limits of
construction.
Returning to the deck, he was consulting Travers about a carpenter,
when, to his astonishment, he saw young Davy, the boy he had brought
from Duff Harbour, and whom he understood to have gone back with
Blue Peter, gazing at him from before the mast.
"Gien ye please, Maister MacPhail," said Davy, and said no more.
"How on earth do you come to be here, you rascal?" said Malcolm.
"Peter was to take you home with him!"
"I garred him think I was gauin'," answered the boy, scratching
his red poll, which glowed in the dusk.
"I gave him your wages," said Malcolm.
"Ay, he tauld me that, but I loot them gang an' gae him the slip,
an' was ashore close ahint yersel', sir, jist as the smack set
sail. I cudna gang ohn hed a word wi' yersel', sir, to see whether
ye wadna lat me bide wi' ye, sir. I haena muckle wut, they tell
me, sir, but gien I michtna aye be able to du what ye tell't me to
du, I cud aye haud ohn dune what ye tell't me no to."
The words of the boy pleased Malcolm more than he judged it wise
to manifest.
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