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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Na, na, my lord," rejoined Malcolm; "a kilt's no seafarin' claes. A kilt wadna du ava', my lord." "You cannot surely object to the dress of your own people," said the marquis. "The kilt 's weel eneuch upon a hillside," said Malcolm, "I dinna doobt; but faith! seafarin', my lord, ye wad want the trews as weel."
"You've got the advantage of Friday, anyhow, bein' a day in advance of him. Well, as I was about to say, boys an' girls, this Robinson Crusoe was a seafarin' man, just like myself; an' he went to sea, an' was shipwrecked on a desolate island just like this, but there was nobody whatever on that island, not even a woman or a babby.
"What's that?" asked Bart. "What did you say about grinding out fog?" "O, nothin, ony thar's an island down the bay, you know, called Grand Manan, an seafarin men say that they've got a fog mill down thar, whar they grind out all the fog for the Bay of Fundy.
He remembered their bein' married, and their baby Mary Thayer, Bos'n's ma bein' born. "Folks used to call John Thayer a smart young feller, so Seth said. They used to cal'late that he'd rise high in the seafarin' and ship-ownin' line. Maybe he would, only he died somewheres in Californy 'long in '54 or thereabouts.
A little fuller in the crown, you'll observe; but that" with a flattering glance "would suit you. You'd carry it off." "Better have it full in the crown," suggested Mr Philp; "by reason it's handier to carry things." "None of your seafarin' gear, I'll thank you," said Captain Cai hastily. "I've hauled ashore."
Blow the fog away? This wind? Why, this wind brings the fog. The sou-wester is the one wind that seafarin men dread in the Bay of Fundy. About the wust kine of a storm is that thar very identical wind blowin in these here very identical waters." Captain Corbet's words were confirmed by the appearance of sea and sky. Outside was the very blackness of darkness. Nothing whatever was visible.
All's well so far but do you know, I'd just as soon raise that point o' land as soon as convenient." "How so?" said I, bending on the line. "Expect some weather?" "Mr. Dixon," said he, giving me a curious glance, "the sea is a queer proposition, put it any ways. I've been a seafarin' man since I was big as a minute, and I know the sea, and what's more, the Feel o' the sea. Now, look out yonder.
"Why do you say that, Betty?" Louise hesitatingly asked the old woman. "'Cause I've knowed Cap'n Abe for more'n twenty year, and in all that endurin' time he's stuck as close to shore as a fiddler. With all his bold talk about ships and sailin', I tell you he warn't a seafarin' man." "But what has Uncle Amazon to do with the mystery of his brother's absence?" demanded Louise. "Humph!
But I never said nothin'. I've been seafarin' long enough to know when to keep my main hatch closed. "The supplementary season dragged along, but it wa'n't quite the success it looked like at the start. The gunnin' that year was even worse than usual, and excursions and picnics in late September ain't all joy, by no manner of means.
I know you're a jill-poke." "A what?" blandly asked Sproul. "That's woods talk for the log that makes the most trouble on the drive and it's a mighty ornery word." "Er something like 'the stabboard pi-oogle, which same is a seafarin' term, and is worse," replied the Cap'n, with bland interest in this philological comparison. "But let's not git strayed off'm the subject.
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