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Updated: June 2, 2025
I thought Aunt Bretta would never have ceased asking questions about dear old Shetland. A stranger would have supposed from her expressions about it, that there did not exist a more delightful spot on earth. Margaret, however, was never weary of replying to all the inquiries made.
Still, I was glad by any means to calm my wife's apprehensions, which were the more painful because they were so very indefinite. In the evening there was a knock at the door, and old Jerry Vincent walked in. "Sarvant, ladies; sarvant all," said he, pulling off his hat to Aunt Bretta and my wife, who handed him a chair. "Have you heard anything of that young man we told you of?" asked my wife.
"Bashfulness!" said Aunt Bretta, when she heard this remark; "I cannot say that I should ever have given Charles Iffley the credit for a superabundance of that quality. However, strange things happen. He may have picked it up at sea, or among his associates on shore; but I doubt it." So did I, on reflection.
"Oh, no, no; I wouldn't have her here on any account," I answered as I thought of the disreputable characters who in shoals would soon be crowding the decks, and who were even now waiting in the boats until they were allowed to come on board. "Tell me, Jerry, about my uncle and Aunt Bretta; how are they both?"
At length, I thought to myself, I shall once more see Old England, and satisfy my kind grandmother and Aunt Bretta that I am still alive. I hope that I may leave this vessel without her being shipwrecked, as has been the fate of every one I have yet been on board.
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