G. Manville Fenn

Printed in Bavaria

1877.

CHAPTER I.

The birds were singing their best one spring morning, and that means a great deal, for they can sing down in the New Forest on a sunny morning in May, and there was quite a chorus of joy to welcome the Skipper and Dot as they went out through the iron gate at the bottom of the garden.

The Skipper had on his last new suit of white duck, bound with blue, and his straw hat with the dark band bearing in gold letters "H.M.S. Flash"; a white plaited cord was round his waist, and a big pocket-knife dangled at his side. With his hat stuck back so as to show his curly brown hair, his blue and white collar over his shoulders, silk sailor-knot handkerchief, and his browned flushed face, he looked a thorough man-of-war's man.

Dot was in white and blue too—a bonnie-looking little girl of seven, dressed as if for a yachting trip, and as full of excitement as her nine-year-old brother, to whom she looked up as someone very big and strong, who would protect her from all the perils and dangers to which they might be exposed.

One must stop to say that "The Skipper," as his father always called him, was Bob, otherwise Robert Trevor; and Dot, so nick-named for reasons plain to see, was by rights Dorothy, and they had that morning been excused from lessons, because Captain Trevor had sent a message from Portsmouth that he was going to run over to lunch.

Mrs. Trevor had said a few words to the Skipper before they started about taking care, to which he replied rather importantly, "Of course, Ma," and about keeping his fresh suit clean; but Mrs. Trevor said nothing to Dot, because, there was no need, for she was about the most prim, neat little creature that ever lived. And, now she paced along by her brother's side, carrying two sticks with iron hooks at their ends, with which she walked in her precise measured way, as if they were wands, while the Skipper carried the "Flash."

Now, the "Flash" was supposed to be a correct model of the big despatch boat commanded by Captain Trevor, but, it was very far from perfect, and no one knew this better than its owner. For Captain Trevor's beautifully swift gun-boat had three funnels amidships, and powerful engines, while the Skipper's model, though it had sails that sent it swiftly through the water when there was a breeze, had a great deal of make-believe about it, the funnels being only pieces of zinc pipe tacked to the deck, the engines, the works of an old clock that would not go, placed in a cigar-box; the boiler, which was just under the funnels, a tin canister; and the furnace a small lamp that had once belonged to a magic lanthorn, the whole having been fitted neatly into the model by Tom Jeffs, coxswain of the captain's gig, a very big ugly sailor, who took his orders seriously and worked under the Skipper's directions. When the lamp was lighted, as the Skipper said, nobody could tell, for when the water in the tin boiled, the steam came out of the funnels, and when the wind blew, it was almost as good as having real engines.

Tom Jeffs looked very serious over the work, and shook his head a great deal when it was done.

"You see," he said, "the steam looks right as right, but you don't get no help from these engines, because it's no use to them. The vessel has to carry the weight, and the screw stops her way. I shall have to make you a real engine someday;" but "some day" had not yet come, though the Skipper did not forget to ask Tom about it every time he came back from a voyage, Tom Jeffs being his name, though the Skipper always called him "Jack Robinson," because he said he seemed so much like the sailor in a song he used to sing.

It was not far through the fir-trees. You could see the water glittering in the sunshine before you were half-way, but the Skipper had to stop twice.

"There's a nest up that tree," he said. "Wood-pigeon's. I could climb up there."

"See how dirty it would make your clothes," cried Dot.

"Well, they could be washed," said her brother, in his lordly way. But he thought better of the climbing, and they went on, with their feet slipping in the fir-needles, till Dot dropped one of the sticks she carried and caught at her brother's arm.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Bird: woodpecker tapping. There it is again."

For a sharp sound was heard from close at hand, and directly after they caught sight of the little fellow that made the noise—a bright-looking bird with black and white markings and some scarlet feathers about its head.

The next minute it flew to another tree, and Dot picked up the stick she had dropped, and followed her brother out of the shady grove into the sunshine, to stand on the sandy shore of the beautiful lake of clear water, from which their home took its name of "The Pool House." One side of the broad piece of water was sheltered by fir-trees, but the other was open, and from where they stood they could look right across it to the deep blue sea.

"Can you see Papa's ship, Bob?" asked Dot.

"Of course you can't," cried the boy laughingly; "it's miles and miles away, at Portsmouth."

"Well, can't you see Portsmouth?" asked Dot.

"Of course not—without Pa's big telescope that he has on board."

The Skipper set down his ship in the sand, trimmed the sails a little, took out the boiler and half filled it with water, put it back, and took a box of matches from his pocket; Dot looking on with a face screwed up, from the interest she took in the business. Then a match was struck, while she held the straw hat to shelter the flame; and kneeling there, with the model's keel buried deep in the sand, the Skipper lit the lamp, but not without scorching the foresail a little.

The next minute the "Flash" was launched, but remained aground in the shallow water.

Dot knew her business, though, and handed her brother one of the sticks, with which he reached out and gave the vessel a good push, that sent it into deep water, where the light breeze filled out the sails, and away went the "Flash" toward the other side, while the two children started off to walk round past the penstock where the water was so deep, and where, during the past year Captain Trevor had brought his son to teach him how to swim, giving him lessons until he had felt brave enough to run out along the boards, and jump, head first, right out into the water.

When he could do that without feeling afraid, diving down ever so far toward the sandy bottom, and, coming up again ready to shake his head and follow his father, Captain Trevor told him he could swim.

Bob liked it then, but he never told his father how frightened he used to feel at first.

They were approaching this penstock, which was really a great square pipe, made of thick boards nailed to posts, and with a sliding door at the end, which could be pulled up to let some of the water run out when the pool was too full, and as they reached it, while the little vessel was sailing away nearly as fast as they could walk, Bob ran out to the end of the wooden drain.

"Oh! do mind!" cried Dot.

"Oh, yes! I shall mind," said the boy importantly; "but what a bother it is that the steam doesn't come. We'll bring a bottle of boiling water out of the kitchen with us next time."

"Yes," said Dot; "that will be the best way."

"And I shall take off the hatch——"

"What's a hatch?" asked Dot.

"Oh! what silly things girls are!" said the Skipper.

"That they're not," cried Dot, "I know. Of course: it's that box lid you open in the floor."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Skipper boisterously. "Box lid in the floor! Why, it's the hatch; and it isn't the floor, it's the deck; and I shall take it off and fill the hold with little lumps of coal."

"Oh, yes! I know that. It's called the 'hold' because it holds so much."

The boy took no notice, but went on:—"And I must have a big gun, like there is in front of Pa's ship, and a powder-magazine."

"But you mustn't let it off," cried Dot.

"But I shall let it off, and you may run away. Oh! what silly things girls are!" and he began to return.

Dot was pouting because she was called silly, but her pretty little face grew animated with trouble the next moment, for the Skipper was walking backwards, so as to keep his eyes fixed upon his sailing-boat. "Oh! Bob, Bob, mind, or you'll tumble in."

"Hoo! hoo! hoo!" he cried, and began to stamp about, and pretended to stagger as if on the point of falling, while Dot screamed aloud in agony and turned white.

This was too much for the boy. He turned and ran back to her side, to catch her in his arms and kiss her.

"Oh, don't! don't cry, poor little old girl," he cried, kissing her wet face again, while she clung to him.

"You—you shouldn't, Bob," she sobbed. "You did frighten me so."

"And I was only pretending," he said soothingly, as he hugged her, and led her along the sand, with his arm about her little waist.

"It—it did hurt, Bob," she sighed, with a smile beginning to struggle through the clouded face.

"There, I won't do so any more," he whispered lovingly, "and——"

"Ship ahoy!" came in a hearty shout, and with the steam just beginning to appear fairly from out of the funnel, the trouble was forgotten.

"Here's Pa come!" cried the boy, and he set off to run.

"Oh, Bob! please," came after him plaintively, and the Skipper turned and hurried back, to catch his sister's hand.

"Now then, fast as you can!" he panted. "I'll help you. Run!"

CHAPTER II.

Before the two children had run far along the side of the lake, two figures appeared, coming along a path. The first, that of a handsome-looking officer in undress uniform; the other, that of a grim-looking sailor, carrying a basket in one hand and a couple of large brown-paper packages, tied together, in the other. But, he did not look quite grim, for somewhere about the middle of a great cocoanut-coloured beard his big white teeth could be seen, showing that he was smiling: and higher up still, just above the top of the beard, which was divided by a brown nose, two squeezed-up eyes were twinkling in the sunshine.

"Skipper, ahoy!" cried the officer, as the boy loosed his hold of his sister's hand, made a running jump, and was caught, hugged, and set down again. "Ah! my precious little woman," came next, and Dot was lifted from the ground, and her arms went round the Captain's neck, as she nestled to him and kissed him again and again.

"Why, hullo! little woman," he cried. "Wet face—tears—crying—had a tumble?"

"Oh, no, Papa dear; it was—it was only—"

She stopped short, and coloured.

"Only what, my darling?"

"It was I," said the Skipper, flushing, but speaking out very bravely. "I frightened her—pretended I was going to tumble into the water."

"But he didn't think it would frighten me, Pa dear," cried Dot earnestly, "or he wouldn't have done it. Would you, Bob?"

"Yes," said the boy stolidly. "Did it on purpose to frighten you."

"How dare you!" cried Captain Trevor sternly. "This is pretty discipline. Have I not always told you that a big boy ought to be kind to his sister?"

"Yes, Pa."

"And because he's strong and ugly, because he's going some day to be a man, he ought to watch over and protect her."

"Yes, Pa," said the boy, his lip quivering, as he stared past his father at the big sailor, who was scowling and shaking his head at him fiercely.

"And now I come home for a few hours, expecting to see you all as happy as can be, I find my boy—no, I can't say my boy if you behave like this—has been as naughty as ever he could be."

"Oh, no, Pa," cried the Skipper, that is to say, nearly cried the Skipper, for his voice sounded a little shaky; "that's not half so naughty as I could be if I tried."

The Skipper stared in wonder, for as he said this, the big sailor suddenly uttered a peculiar sound, swung himself round with the bag and parcels flying out, and stood with his back to him, upon one leg, lifting the other up and down, with the toe just touching the ground from time to time.

As for Captain Trevor, the Skipper saw that he had squeezed his lips together, wrinkled up his face, and frowned heavily.

"Oh! please, Pa dear," whispered Dot, tightening her arms round his neck, "don't be cross with poor Bob. He was very sorry. Weren't you, Bob?"

"Yes, I was sorry," said the boy repentantly, but without taking his eyes off the big sailor, whose leg was still going up and down like one of the engines on board his father's ship.

"But I must be angry with him, my darling," said the Captain gravely. "Bob knows better; if he does such things now and does not check them, he will grow into a bully, and disgrace himself."

This was said at the Skipper, whose face was very red, from his efforts to keep back his tears.

"Oh! Pa dear!" cried Dot.

"Hush! my darling," said the Captain. "Here, Jeffs!"

"'Jack Robinson' saluted the little Skipper and Dot."

"Ay, ay, sir!" roared the big sailor, as if he were speaking in a storm; and he swung round again, with his packages flying out, like the governor balls of the ship's engine.

"Did you bring that breech-loading cannon?"

"Ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor, holding up the hand which held the parcels.

"And the brass anchor?"

"Ay, ay, sir!" and the hand was lifted again.

"And I told you to buy a coil of well-laid cable."

"Ay, ay, sir!—best fishing-line. In my 'at, sir."

"Right then; you can take them back: they will not be wanted."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the man, but not so loudly and sharply; and he gazed now at the Skipper, who looked back at him in his misery; and strive how he would, he could not keep back one little tear, which squeezed itself out of his left eye and tickled his cheek very much, as it slowly ran down.

Poor little Dot was not so strong, but still she was brave, for she made no sound, while she hid her face and cried bitterly.

Meanwhile, the big sailor had faced about and was walking back, picking up his feet from the sand as if it were hot and burned him, while the Captain turned his back on his son and began to move off toward the fir-wood.

This gave the Skipper his opportunity too; he swung round to hide the tears that had beaten him, and would come trickling down.

For the boy in his misery and despair felt that he could not—thanks to his training—run to his father and beg for forgiveness, so that he might have the presents the Captain had brought for him. It would be so mean, he thought. But that cannon, and the anchor, and the ship's cable. It seemed more than he could bear.

The sand was very soft, and the Skipper would not have known that his father had come back, if Dot had not uttered a tiny sob, when the boy started round, to face his father's eyes.

"Not sulky, are you, Bob?"

The boy shook his head. He dared not try to speak.

"It was not right of my boy, was it?"

"No, father," whispered the boy.

"Shake hands, then."

The Skipper caught the firm brown hand in both of his, and clung to it tightly, and Dot began kissing her father with all her might. As soon as he could extricate himself, the Captain smiled and wiped his wet face, for Dot had been leaving little dewy tears all over it. Then he hailed the big sailor, who was out of sight among the trees.

"Ay, ay, sir!" came in a cheery roar, and the next minute he came into sight, trotting along at double quick march, and making the dry sand fly like smoke.

"Those ship's stores will be wanted to-day," said the Captain sharply; and he strode off into the fir-wood, with Dot in his arms, leaving his son to follow.

The Skipper turned his back again, so that the sailor should not see the trouble in his face, but he looked round in wonder, for there was a strange scuffling noise, the low whistling of the old tune "Jack Robinson," and there was the big sailor, with his arms swung across his breast, and the parcels dangling on the wrong side, going through the steps of the sailor's hornpipe, as if he were made of indiarubber; and kicking up the dust more than ever.

"There was the big sailor going through the steps of the sailor's hornpipe."

"Hooroar! Master Bob," he whispered huskily. "It's all right agen. Come on and let's get the ship, and I'll help you to hyste the tackle aboard as soon as we get up to the house."

CHAPTER III.

The Skipper felt very uncomfortable when he reached home carrying his boat, for almost the first person he saw, was his mother, who met him in the hall, to catch him in her arms, without taking any notice of the big sailor, who saluted her, by pulling at a tuft of shaggy hair on his forehead, bending forward and kicking out one leg behind, before patting down his load.

"You can go in the kitchen, Jeffs," said the Captain, appearing at the drawing-room door, "and have your meal there."

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"There will be a portmanteau to take back with you, but, you can stay till the evening if you like. The boat will be at the stairs at seven."

"Ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor, saluting, and backing out, trying hard to catch the Skipper's eye; but the boy was watching his mother, for he saw that she had been crying.

"Father's been telling her," he said to himself; and he took the first opportunity of slipping away. But he had to come back when the big bell rang for early dinner, feeling very guilty, and longing to tell his mother that he was always going to be very brave and manly in the future, and never do anything wrong again. But, he had no chance, for soon after dinner, Mrs. Trevor, who looked very unhappy, told him to take Dot and go and play.

"Ah! yes, little ones," said the Captain gravely. "You can go, both of you, but don't go far away. I shall want to see all I can of you to-day."

Bob felt more uncomfortable still, as he reached the door, but, before he was outside, the Captain called him back. "I suppose you would like to have Jeffs to help you this afternoon?" he said quietly.

"Ye—es, please, Papa," said the boy.

"Very well. Fetch me those two parcels he brought."

Bob hurried out into the hall, closely followed by Dot, who said sagely, "You made Pa and Ma both cry by teasing me."

But the thought of the parcels chased away the trouble in the boy's heart, as he caught them up and ran with them into the drawing-room, followed by Dot, whose little face grew serious, when the parcels were opened, and found to contain little square boxes.

"Open them," said the Captain, while Mrs. Trevor stood beside them, biting her lower lip.

The boy's cheeks flushed, and his heart beat, for there, bright and new, were the things he had been longing for: a large metal model, carriage and all, of a breech-loading cannon, and a patent brass anchor.

"Oh, Pa!" he cried, half wild with joy.

"For someone who is always going to act like a man," said the Captain seriously, "and—ah! my little one, what a sad face!" he cried. "Did she think she was forgotten? Why! where's that basket, Jeffs brought?"

Dot needed no telling: she darted out of the room, to come back directly with her eves sparkling, and before the basket was open, she was upon her father's knee, laughing, and kissing his sad face, her mother directly after coming in for her share of caresses. For the basket was found to contain a long parcel and a box, the trembling little fingers having plenty of difficulty in tearing off the paper, to display a new doll, of wonderful construction, and an attractive-looking box of sweets.

"You spoil them, my dear;" said Mrs. Trevor sadly.

The Captain sighed as he said:—"I do not have much chance, love. There, it makes them happy. I don't spoil you; do I, Bob?"

"No, Pa," replied the boy quickly; and the scene by the lake came back, to make him feel guilty again.

"There, run along," cried the Captain; and the next minute all was forgotten, for there was so much to do.

"Jack Robinson" was waiting, ready to grin with pleasure as Dot rushed at him, to show him the new doll, which he was allowed to take in his hands, the child trembling and flushing a little, as she saw directly after, that there were tarry marks upon his palms; but, the dark drown did not come off.