Hubbard, I'll toss you which you do in the
morning and which I do!" He lost the toss. "Then I'll catch it," I said,
laughing at his discomfiture, for I knew he loathed stirring porridge.
"And mind you don't burn it as you did every blessed time last year on
the Volga," I added by way of reminder.
Mrs. Maloney's fifth interruption about the door of her tent, and her
further pointed observation that it was past nine o'clock, set us
lighting lanterns and putting the fire out for safety.
But before we separated for the night the clergyman had a time-honoured
little ritual of his own to go through that no one had the heart to deny
him. He always did this. It was a relic of his pulpit habits. He glanced
briefly from one to the other of us, his face grave and earnest, his
hands lifted to the stars and his eyes all closed and puckered up
beneath a momentary frown. Then he offered up a short, almost inaudible
prayer, thanking Heaven for our safe arrival, begging for good weather,
no illness or accidents, plenty of fish, and strong sailing winds.
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