sky.

"It's rising out of the water, steady," a voice said close to me. I had
been thinking on so, that it like woke me with a start, though it was no
stranger voice than the voice of Harry Charker, my own comrade.

"What's rising out of the water, steady?" I asked my comrade.

"What?" says he. "The Island."

"O! The Island!" says I, turning my eyes towards it. "True. I forgot
the Island."

"Forgot the port you're going to? That's odd, ain't it?"

"It is odd," says I.

"And odd," he said, slowly considering with himself, "ain't even. Is it,
Gill?"

He had always a remark just like that to make, and seldom another. As
soon as he had brought a thing round to what it was not, he was
satisfied. He was one of the best of men, and, in a certain sort of a
way, one with the least to say for himself. I qualify it, because,
besides being able to read and write like a Quarter-master, he had always
one most excellent idea in his mind. That was, Duty. Upon my soul, I
don't believe, though I admire learning beyond everything, that he could
have got a better idea out of all the books in the world, if he had
learnt them every word, and been the cleverest of scholars.