It seemed queer to walk straight in at the door of Holly Howe Farm. John had very nearly stopped and knocked at it. Inside, everything was as it used to be. Mother was sitting at the table writing to father. Nurse was sitting in the armchair knitting. Fat Vicky was playing on the floor with a woolly sheep with a black nose.
“Hullo,” said mother, looking up, “did you have a good drool?”
“We all drooled like anything,” said John, “and we didn’t wake up as soon as you said. At least not quite as soon.”
“And you got the milk at the farm all right?”
“Yes.”
“I liked the native at the farm,” said Roger.
“So did I,” said mother, “when I saw her yesterday.”
Nurse somehow did not seem to feel that she was talking with seamen from another land. “You haven’t caught your deaths of cold yet,” she said. “It’s quite a holiday to be without you. And tell me, Master Roger, did you remember to clean your teeth? I never packed a tooth glass for you.”
“I used the whole lake,” said Roger.
“We’ve brought the mail,” said John. “It’s a letter from Titty.”
He pulled the letter out of his pocket and mother opened it and read it. “I must write an answer to that,” she said.
“We’ve come for a cargo,” said Captain John. “We forgot to take our fishing rods.”