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I am assured that he was a fine, sturdy little fellow, and that he took after his grandfather in looks and disposition. And his grandfather and Krok delighted in him, and fed his hungry little mind from their own hard-won experiences, and taught him all their craft as he grew able for it, so that few boys of his age could handle boat and nets and lines as he could.
If I came as often as I wanted you'd be for turning me out," with a nod to Krok, who replied with a cheerful smile, and went to the fire. "You know better. Your welcome always waits you. What's in the wind now?" "Phil wants to go privateering," said my mother. "And George has come to help him." "Ah, I expected it would come to that," said my grandfather quietly.
I had never told him that his wound came from my hand, but he associated me with it in some way, and showed so strong a distaste for my company that I thought well to go no more. He had taken a dislike to old Krok too. Their common loss had in it the elements of mockery, and on my second visit Krok expressed a desire to return to Sercq.
I asked hastily, but not without hope, from the lack of signs of disturbance. "Where is she?" he asked feebly, with a touch of impatience. "Is she not here?" "She went out. I thought I heard a shot. Where is she?" "I will go and see," and I ran out again, still not unhopeful. It might be that Krok had seen Torode's ship and his fears for Carette had magnified matters.
But love, I think, if somewhat selfish, is a mighty quickener of the understanding, and even though all one's thoughts are upon one object, a fellow-feeling opens one's eyes to the signs elsewhere. We talked much of the matter of my going, that night over the supper-table, or my grandfather and George Hamon did, while my mother and Krok and I listened.
And even as I spoke, the door opened and Krok came in, but a Krok that we hardly knew. He was in a state of most intense agitation. I thought at first that it was on my account, that he had heard of my arrival. But in a moment I saw that it was some greater thing still that moved him.
But we got him to the opening at last, and hauled the boat down and hoisted him in, soaked to the skin each one of us. Uncle George carefully closed his door, and we pulled out to Krok, waiting in the lugger. "Mon Dieu! I have had enough of him," said Uncle George, worn out, I suppose, with all the night's doings. "If he dies, I shall not care much. He is better dead."
One time, however, is very clear in my memory, when two whole days passed, and fine days too, without any sign of her, and Aunt Jeanne Falla knew nothing more of her than I did. My grandfather was out fishing in our smaller boat, and Krok was bringing home vraic in the larger, but it was not lack of a boat that could keep me from news of Carette.
Next day my grandfather and Krok made holiday, in order to carry me over to Peter Port and see the Swallow for themselves, and my mother's fervent "God keep you, Phil!" and all the other prayers that I felt in her arms round my neck, were with me still as we ran past Brecqhou, and I stood with an arm round the mast looking eagerly for possible, but unlikely, sight of Carette.
Better look if he's among our lot. You would know him better than we would. They're all down yonder. I must go and see after Amice Le Couteur. We left him bleeding at Eperquerie. Get anything you want from our people, Tourtel. Krok, you come along with us;" and we set off over the hill past La Jaspellerie to get to La Vauroque.
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