“That’s it, dra’ed out all natural, in paints, and her bonnet, and her shawl, and all, just like life; we was a going to ax you to do one of they garrytypes; but she would have’n noo price; besides tan’t cheerful looking they sort, with your leave; too much blackamoor wise, you see, and over thick about the nozzes, most times, to my liking; so we’ll pay you and welcome, all you ask.”

“Too much blackamoor wise, indeed!” said Claude, amused.  “And how much do you think I should ask?”

No answer.

“We’ll settle that presently.  Come down into the cabin with me.”

“Why, sir, we couldn’t make so hold.  His lordship—­”

“Oh, his lordship’s on shore, and I am skipper for the time; and if not, he’d be delighted to see two good seamen here.  So come along.”

And down they went.

“Bowie, bring these gentlemen some sherry!” cried Claude, turning over his portfolio.  “Now then, my worthy friends, is that the sort of thing you want?”

And he spread on the table a water-colour sketch of Grace.

The two worthies gazed in silent delight, and then looked at each other, and then at Claude, and then at the picture.

“Why, sir,” said Willis; “I couldn’t have believed it!  You’ve got the very smile of her, and the sadness of her too, as if you’d known her a hundred year!”

“’Tis beautiful!” sighed Jan, half to himself.  Poor fellow, he had cherished, perhaps, hopes of winning Grace after all.

“Well, will that suit you?”

“Why, sir, make so bold:—­but what we thought on was to have her drawn from head to foot, and a child standing by her like, holding to her hand, for a token as she was schoolmistress; and the pier behind, maybe, to signify as she was our maid, and belonged to Aberalva.”

“A capital thought!  Upon my word, you’re men of taste here in the West; but what do you think I should charge for such a picture as that?”

“Name your price, sir,” said Jan, who was in high good humour at Claude’s approbation.

“Two hundred guineas?”

Jan gave a long whistle.

“I told you so, Captain Beer,” said Willis, “or ever we got into the boat.”

“Now,” said Claude, laughing, “I’ve two prices, ore’s two hundred, and the other is just nothing; and if you won’t agree to the one, you must take the other.”

“But we wants to pay, we’d take it an honour to pay, if we could afford it.”

“Then wait till next Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“My good friend, pictures are not painted in a day.  Next Christmas, if I live, I’ll send you what you shall not be ashamed of, or she either, and do you club your money and put it into a handsome gold frame.”

“But, sir,” said Willis, “this will give you a sight of trouble, and all for our fancy.”

“I like it, and I like you!  You’re fine fellows, who know a noble creature when God sends her to you; and I should be ashamed to ask a farthing of your money.  There, no more words!”