"Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. , you know, fair and square. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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