Dinah was minded to retort that, as it was, the planting had taken a long time.  But she contented herself with glancing again at the house and saying evasively that the new tenant appeared to take more interest in fixtures than in flowers.

“I own,” sighed Mrs Bosenna, “I thought he’d have been eager to take stock of the garden before it grew dark.  Such a beautiful garden, as it is, in a small way!”

“When a man has passed his whole life at sea—­”

“True,” her mistress agreed.  “Yet how it must enlarge the mind!  So different from farming!”

“It must be ekally dependent on the weather,” Dinah opined.  “At least.  More so, takin’ one thing with another.  Oh, decidedly.  It stands to reason.”

“I’m romantic perhaps,” confessed Mrs Bosenna; “but I can never think of any ship’s captain as being quite an ordinary man.  The dangers he must go through—­and the foreign countries he visits—­and up night after night in all weathers, staring into the darkness in an oilskin suit!”

“‘Tisn’ the sort o’ man I should ever choose for a husband, if I wanted one,” maintained Dinah.

“Who was talking of husbands, you silly woman?”

“I don’t see how else the men-folk consarn us, mistress.”

“You’re coarse, Dinah.”

“I’m practical, anyway.  If they choose to toss up an’ down ’pon the sea they’re welcome, for me.  But, for my part, when I lay me down at night, I like to be sure o’ gettin’ up in the same position next mornin’; and I’d to feel the same about a husband, supposin’ I cared for the man.”

“I often think,” mused Mrs Bosenna, “that we’re not half grateful enough to sailors, considering the risks they run and the things they bring us home:  tea and coffee, raisins, currants, with all kinds of spices and cordial drinks.”

“Oranges an’ lemons, say the bells o’ St Clemen’s.  Oranges—­”

“I wasn’t thinking of this Captain Hocken in particular,” interrupted the widow hastily.  “Take a Christmas pudding, for instance.  Flour and suet, and there’s an end if you depend on the farmer; just an ordinary dumpling.  Whereas the sailor brings the figs, the currants, the candied peel, the chopped almonds, the brandy—­all the ingredients that make it Christmassy.”

“And then the farmer takes an’ eats it.  Aw, believe me, mistress, Stay-at-home fares best in this world!”

“I don’t know, Dinah,” sighed Mrs Bosenna.  “Haven’t you ever in your life wished for a pair o’ wings?”

“To wear in my hat?  Why, o’ course I have.”

“No, no; I mean, for the wings of a dove, to fly away and be—­well, not at rest exactly—­”

“No, I haven’t, mistress.  But ’tis the way with you discontented rich folks.  Like Hocken’s ducks, all of ’ee—­never happy unless you be where you baint. . . .  I wonder if that Hocken was any relation—­S-sh! now!  Talk of the devil!”

Captain Cai and Fancy had spent a good hour-and-a-half in overhauling the two cottages.  Their accommodation was narrow enough, but Captain Cai, after half a lifetime on shipboard, found them little short of palatial.  The child could scarcely drag him away from the tiny bath-rooms with their hot and cold water taps.