"Do you see anything particular?" asked the fisherman.
"I can't say that I do."
"Look at her masthead. What is there?"
After a pause I said: "There is a grey hair, that is all, like a
pennant."
"I mean that," said Jonas. "I can't say whether my old mother put a hair
from her white head there for the purpose, or whether it caught and
fixed itself when she fell forward clasping the boat, and the masts and
spars and shrouds were all tangled in her hair. Anyhow, there it be, and
that's one reason why I've had the _Bold Venture_ put in a glass
case--that the white hair may never by no chance get brushed away from
it. Now, look again. Do you see nothing more?"
"Can't say I do."
"Look at the bows."
I did so. Presently I remarked: "I see nothing except, perhaps, some
bruises, and a little bit of red paint."
"Ah! that's it, and where did the red paint come from?"