Chapter 2

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.

"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.

"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."