'I'm daddy,' he called out to me as I came in.
There was a little round table laid ready for me, and covered with a
spotlessly clean cloth, and on it was a small black teapot, and a white
and gold cup and saucer, upon which I saw the golden announcement, 'A
present from Whitby,' whilst my plate was adorned with a remarkable
picture of Whitby Abbey in a thunderstorm.
There were herrings, of course, and Polly had made some hot cakes, the
like of which are never seen outside Yorkshire. These were ready
buttered, and were lying wrapped in a clean cloth in front of the fire.
Polly made the tea as soon as I entered, and then retired with little
John in her arms into the bedroom, whilst I sat down with a good
appetite to my breakfast.
I had not quite finished my meal when I heard a great shout from the
shore. Women and children, lads and lasses, ran past the open door,
crying, 'The boats! the boats!' Polly came flying into the kitchen,
caught up little John's red cap, thrust it on his head, and ran down the
steps. I left my breakfast unfinished, and followed them.
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