I will show you where you can get one.

Old Edward will row you across for sixpence," and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where old Edward sat, from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his biggest boat, seeking those whom he might row.
"Edward," said the young lady, "here is the new squire, Mr.Owen Davies, who wants to be rowed across to the Castle." Edward, a gnarled and twisted specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face that reminded the observer of one of those quaint countenances on the handle of a walking stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then cast a look of suspicion on the visitor.
"Have he got papers of identification about him, miss ?" he asked in a stage whisper.
"I don't know," she answered laughing.

"He says that he is Mr.Owen Davies." "Well, praps he is and praps he ain't; anyway, it isn't my affair, and sixpence is sixpence." All of this the unfortunate Mr.Davies overheard, and it did not add to his equanimity.
"Now, sir, if you please," said Edward sternly, as he pulled the little boat up to the edge of the breakwater.

A vision of Mrs.Thomas shot into Owen's mind.

If the boatman did not believe in him, what chance had he with the housekeeper?
He wished he had brought the lawyer down with him, and then he wished that he was back in the sugar brig.
"Now, sir," said Edward still more sternly, putting down his hesitation to an impostor's consciousness of guilt.
"Um!" said Owen to the young lady, "I beg your pardon.