Although the Red Eric was thrown on her beam-ends, or nearly so, by the excessive violence of the squall, the preparations to meet it had been so well made that she righted again almost immediately, and now flew before the wind under bare poles with a velocity that was absolutely terrific.

 

Ailie had been nearly thrown out of her berth when the ship lay over, and now when she listened to the water hissing and gurgling past the little port that lighted her cabin, and felt the staggering of the vessel, as burst after burst of the hurricane almost tore the masts out of her, she lay trembling with anxiety and debating with herself whether or not she ought to rise and go on deck.

 

Captain Dunning well knew that his child would be naturally filled with fear, for this was the first severe squall she had ever experienced, so, as he could not quit the deck himself, he called Glynn Proctor to him and sent him down with a message.

 

“Well, Ailie,” said Glynn, cheerfully, as he opened the door and peeped in; “how d’ye get on, dear? The captain has sent me to say that the worst o’ this blast is over, and you’ve nothing to fear.”

 

“I am glad to hear that, Glynn,” replied the child, holding out her hand, while a smile lighted up her face and smoothed out the lines of anxiety from her brow. “Come and sit by me, Glynn, and tell me what like it is. I wish so much that I had been on deck. Was it grand, Glynn?”

 

“It was uncommonly grand; it was even terrible—but I cannot sit with you more than a minute, else my shipmates will say that I’m skulking.”

 

“Skulking, Glynn! What is that?”

 

“Why, it’s—it’s shirking work, you know,” said Glynn, somewhat puzzled.

 

Ailie laughed. “But you forget that I don’t know what ‘shirking’ means. You must explain that too.”

 

“How terribly green you are, Ailie.”

 

“No! am I?” exclaimed the child in some surprise. “What can have done it? I’m not sick.”

 

Glynn laughed outright at this, and then proceeded to explain the meaning of the slang phraseology he had used. “Green, you must know, means ignorant,” he began.

 

“How funny! I wonder why.”

 

“Well, I don’t know exactly. Perhaps it’s because when a fellow’s asked to answer questions he don’t understand, he’s apt to turn either blue with rage or yellow with fear—or both; and that, you know, would make him green. I’ve heard it said that it implies a comparison of men to plants—very young ones, you know, that are just up, just born, as it were, and have not had much experience of life, are green of course—but I like my own definition best.”

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