The Novels of Faith – Premium 7 Book Collection. Finley Martha

      "She won't growl any way."

      "No, I suppose not. Which is the captain, Ru.?"

      "That nice jolly looking chap over yonder, that's giving orders in such a loud peremptory tone, is Captain Wells, master of the ship; that blue eyed, brown haired, rosy cheeked stripling standing near is his son, Edward Wells; and they're both English; so don't remind them that this vessel was taken from the British in the last war."

      "Of course not, unless they say something mean or exasperating about Washington or America."

      "In that case I give you leave to twit 'em as hard as you like."

      "Who was that nice looking man that helped us on board? I thought father or somebody called him captain."

      "So he is, Captain Jones; but acting as first mate here. That lady, talking to mother and Aunt Wealthy, is his wife. They're both Yankees; so you can relieve your mind occasionally on the subject of the ship, by a little private exultation with them.

      "Do you notice the contrast between those two faces?—mother's and Mrs. Jones'; hers so dark, mother's so beautifully fair and rosy."

      "Who could help noticing it? Rupert, I do think our mother has just the loveliest face in the world!"

      "Ditto!" he said, gazing at her with a world of filial love, pride and chivalric admiration in his handsome eyes.

      "I say what's the use? you may just as well set still where you hare," growled a voice near at hand.

      The young people turned involuntarily at the sound, and perceived that the speaker was a burly, red-faced young Englishman; the one so politely and kindly addressed, a little meek-eyed woman of the same nationality, with a chalky complexion, and washed out appearance generally, who, as they afterward learned, and suspected at the time, was the wife of his bosom.

      "'What a bear!" exclaimed Rupert in an aside to his sister, and drawing her away as he spoke. "See, we're beginning to move. Let's go over to the other side where we can have a better view."

      "I presume that's what she wanted to do," remarked Mildred, glancing back at the meek-eyed woman. "And why shouldn't he have let her?"

      "Why, indeed, except that he's a cowardly bully."

      "How do you know?"

      "Because that's the only kind of man that would speak so to a decent woman."