THE LIGHTHOUSEtobacco pouch, handed it with a little grunt toMacalister, and felt, they knew, for all theysuffered, perfectly content. Now they would sailon for hours like this, and Mr. Ramsay wouldask old Macalister a question—about the greatstorm last winter probably—and old Macalisterwould answer it, and they would puff their pipestogether, and Macalister would take a tarry ropein his fingers, tying or untying some knot, andthe boy would fish, and never say a word to anyone. James would be forced to keep his eye allthe time on the sail. For if he forgot, then thesail puckered, and shivered, and the boat slackened,and Mr. Ramsay would say sharply, "Look out!Look out!" and old Macalister would turn slowlyon his seat. So they heard Mr. Ramsay askingsome question about the great storm at Christmas.“She comes driving round the point," oldMacalister said, describing the great storm lastChristmas, when ten ships had been driven intothe bay for shelter, and he had seen "one there,one there, one there" (he pointed slowly roundthe bay. Mr. Ramsay followed him, turning hishead). He had seen four men clinging to themast. Then she was gone. "And at last weshoved her off," he went on (but in their angerand their silence they only caught a word here andthere, sitting at opposite ends of the boat, united253
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