"There's somethin' of a sea tonight, an' I hain't heard you make no remarks on it." "Too busy," Harvey replied, testing a blade's edge.

"Come to think of it, she is a high-kicker." The little schooner was gambolling all around her anchor among the silver-tipped waves.

Backing with a start of affected surprise at the sight of the strained cable, she pounced on it like a kitten, while the spray of her descent burst through the hawse-holes with the report of a gun.

Shaking her head, she would say: "Well, I'm sorry I can't stay any longer with you.

I'm going North," and would sidle off, halting suddenly with a dramatic rattle of her rigging.