When I am there and the rote is on the
beach, it tells me it is the voice of the south wind giving notice of
rain. All nature warns me. The swallow, the pig, the goose, the fire
on the hearth, the soot in the flue, the smoke of the chimney, the
rising and setting sun, the white frost, the stars--all, all tell me."
"Yes," sais I, "when I am to home I know all them signs."
"The spider too is my guide, and the ant also. But the little
pimpernel, the poor man's weather-glass, and the convolvulus are truer
than any barometer, and a glass of water never lies."
"Ah, Doctor," said I, "you and I read and study the same book. I don't
mean to assert we are, as Sorrow says, nateral children, but we are
both children of nature, and honour our parents. I agree with you
about the fog, but I wanted to see if you could answer signals with
me. I am so glad you have come on board. You want amusement, I want
instruction. I will swap stories with you for bits of your wisdom, and
as you won't take boot, I shall be a great gainer."
After a good deal of such conversation, we went below, and in due
season turned in, in a place where true comfort consists in oblivion.
The morning, as the doctor predicted, was clear, the fog was gone, and
the little French village lay before us in all the beauty of ugliness.
The houses were small, unpainted, and uninviting. Fish-flakes were
spread on the beach, and the women were busy in turning the cod upon
them.
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