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!"
"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.
[Illustration: "_'Jack Robinson' saluted the little Skipper and Dot._"]
"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.
[Illustration: "_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."