What was the
name of yours?"
"A square-rigged schooner out of Bristol, painted green, with a white
figurehead of a winged heathen god."
"And the name?"
"The name is a strange one. It is called _The Horn of Diarmaid_, but I
seek to prevail on the captain to change it to _The Horn of Mercy_."
"No such name is known to me," and the Receiver shook his head. "But I
will remember it, and send you news."
I hope I did not betray my surprise, but for all that it was
staggering. Of all disguises and of all companies this was the most
comic and the most hazardous. I stared across the river till I had
mastered my countenance, and when I looked again at the two they were
soberly discussing the harbour dues of Boston.
Presently the Receiver's sloop arrived to carry him to Point Comfort.
He nodded to me, and took an affectionate farewell of the Boston man. I
heard some good mouth-filling texts exchanged between them.
Then, when we were alone, the Quaker turned to me. "Man, Andrew," he
said, "it was a good thing that I had a Bible upbringing. I can manage
the part fine, but I flounder among the 'thees' and 'thous.' I would be
the better of a drink to wash my mouth of the accursed pronouns. Will
you be alone to-night about the darkening? Then I'll call in to see
you, for I've much to tell you.
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