Now before this building, his blue coat laid by, his shirt sleeves
rolled up, his glazed hat on the back of his head, was the Bo'sun,
polishing away at a small, brass cannon that was mounted on a
platform, and singing lustily as he worked. So loudly did he sing,
and so engrossed was he, that he did not look up until he felt
Barnabas touch him. Then he started, turned, stared, hesitated, and,
finally, broke into a smile.
"Ah, it's you, sir,--the young gemman as bore away for Lon'on
alongside Master Horatio, his Lordship!"
"Yes," said Barnabas, extending his hand, "how are you, Bo'sun?"
"Hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye!" Saying which he touched his
forehead, rubbed his hand upon his trousers, looked at it, rubbed it
again, and finally gave it to Barnabas, though with an air of apology.
"Been making things a bit ship-shape, sir, 'count o' this here day
being a occasion,--but I'm hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye."
"And the Captain," said Barnabas with some hesitation. "How is the
Captain?"
"The Cap'n, sir," answered the Bo'sun, "the Cap'n is likewise hearty."
"And--Lady Cleone--is she well, is she happy?"
"Why, sir, she's as 'appy as can be expected--under the circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"Love, sir."
"Love!" exclaimed Barnabas, "why, Bo'sun--what do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, as she's fell in love at last-"How do you know--who with--where is she--?"
"Well, sir, I know on account o' 'er lowness o' sperrits,--noticed
it for a week or more. Likewise I've heered 'er sigh very frequent,
and I've seen 'er sit a-staring up at the moon--ah, that I have!
Now lovers is generally low in their sperrits, I've heered tell,
and they allus stare very 'ard at the moon,--why, I don't know,
but they do,--leastways, so I've--"
"But--in love--with whom? Can I see her? Where is she? Are you sure?"
"And sartain, sir. Only t' other night, as I sat a-smoking my pipe
on the lawn, yonder,--she comes out to me, and nestles down under my
lee--like she used to years ago. 'Jerry, dear,' says she, 'er voice
all low and soft-like, 'look at the moon,--how beautiful it is!' says
she, and--she give a sigh. 'Yes, my lady,' says I. 'Oh, Jerry,' says
she, 'call me Clo, as you used to do.' 'Yes, my Lady Clo,' says I.
But she grapples me by the collar, and stamps 'er foot at me, all
in a moment. 'Leave out the 'lady,'' says she. 'Yes, Clo,' says I.
So she nestles an' sighs and stares at the moon again. 'Jerry, dear,'
says she after a bit, 'when will the moon be at the full?' 'To-morrer,
Clo,' says I. And after she's stared and sighed a bit longer--'Jerry,
dear,' says she again, 'it's sweet to think that while we are
looking up at the moon--others perhaps are looking at it too, I mean
others who are far away. It--almost seems to bring them nearer,
doesn't it? Then I knowed as 't were love, with a big L, sartin and
sure, and--"