Part 20 (1/2)
”I understand.”
”And privateering seems the best thing going. I want to try that. What do you say?”
”Some have done mightily well at it--”
”You see,” I said eagerly, ”there is only that or the free-trading, or the West Indies again, or a King's s.h.i.+p--”
He nodded understandingly.
”And none of them hold any very big chances--except the free-trading. And there--”
”I know! Your mother won't hear of it. She has her reasons, my boy, and you can leave it at that ... She won't like the privateering either, you know, Phil,” he said doubtfully, as though he did not care over much for the job he was being dragged into.
”I'm afraid she won't, Uncle George. That's why--”
”That's why you come to me,” he smiled.
”That's it. You see, I've got to be up and doing, because--”
”I know,” he nodded. ”Well, come along, and let's get it over,” and we went across the fields to Belfontaine.
My mother met us at the door, and it was borne in upon me suddenly that as a girl she must have been very good-looking. There was more colour than usual in her face, and the quiet eyes shone brightly. I thought she guessed we had come on some business opposed to her peace of mind, but I have since known that there were deeper reasons.
”You are welcome, George Hamon,” she said. ”What mischief are you and Phil plotting now?”
”Aw, then! It's a bad character you give me, Rachel.”
”I know he goes to you for advice, and he might do worse. He's been restless since he came home. What is it?”
”Young blood must have its chance, you know. And change of pasture is good for young calves, as Jeanne Falla says.”
”Hasn't he had change enough?”
”Where is Philip?”
”Down vraicking with Krok in Saignie. A big drift came in this morning, and we want all we can get for the fields.”
”Give them a hand, Phil, and then bring your grandfather along. And I'll talk to your mother.”
My grandfather and Krok had got most of the seaweed drawn up onto the stones above tide-level, and as soon as we had secured the rest they came up to the house with me, wet and hungry. I had told my grandfather simply that George Hamon was there, but said nothing about our business. He greeted him warmly.
”George, my boy, you should come in oftener.”
”Ay, ay! 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. ”It's a risky business, after all, Phil,”--to me, sitting on the green-bed and feeling rather sheepish.