“‘Yourself,’ says him.

“‘Who stole the eggs?’ says the billy-goat.

“‘Ax your ould grandmother!’ says the pig.

“‘Ax me ould which mother?’ says the billy-goat.

“‘Oh, ax me——’ And before he could complete the sintence ram, blam, the ould billy-goat butts him in the chist, and away goes the both of thim whirtlin’ into the say below.

“Thin me ould grandfather comes out, and collars me by the scruff, and ‘Into the sty with you!’ says he; and into the sty I wint, and there they kep’ me for a fortnit on bran mash and skim milk—and well I desarved it.”

They dined somewhere about eleven o’clock, and at noon Paddy unstepped the mast and made a sort of little tent or awning with the sail in the bow of the boat to protect the children from the rays of the vertical sun.

Then he took his place in the bottom of the boat, in the stern, stuck Dick’s straw hat over his face to preserve it from the sun, kicked about a bit to get a comfortable position, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER VIII

“S-H-E-N-A-N-D-O-A-H”

HE HAD slept an hour and more when he was brought to his senses by a thin and prolonged shriek. It was Emmeline in a nightmare, or more properly a day-mare, brought on by a meal of sardines and the haunting memory of the gibbly-gobbly-ums. When she was shaken (it always took a considerable time to bring her to, from these seizures) and comforted, the mast was restepped.

As Mr. Button stood with his hand on the spar looking round him before going aft with the sheet, an object struck his eye some three miles ahead. Objects rather, for they were the masts and spars of a small ship rising from the water. Not a vestige of sail, just the naked spars. It might have been a couple of old skeleton trees jutting out of the water for all a landsman could have told.

He stared at this sight for twenty or thirty seconds without speaking, his head projected like the head of a tortoise. Then he gave a wild “Hurroo!”

“What is it, Paddy?” asked Dick.

“Hurroo!” replied Mr. Button. “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy! Lie to till I be afther boardin’ you. Sure, they are lyin’ to—divil a rag of canvas on her—are they aslape or dhramin’? Here, Dick, let me get aft wid the sheet; the wind’ll take us up to her quicker than we’ll row.”

He crawled aft and took the tiller; the breeze took the sail, and the boat forged ahead.

“Is it daddy’s ship?” asked Dick, who was almost as excited as his friend.

“I dinno; we’ll see when we fetch her.”

“Shall we go on her, Mr. Button?” asked Emmeline.

“Ay will we, honey.”

Emmeline bent down, and fetching her parcel from under the seat, held it in her lap.

As they drew nearer, the outlines of the ship became more apparent. She was a small brig, with stump topmasts, from the spars a few rags of canvas fluttered. It was apparent soon to the old sailor’s eye what was amiss with her.