Almost he vaulted the stile between the field and the canal bank.

Alighting, he hailed the boat in nautical language-- "Ahoy, Smiles! What cheer, my hearty ?" "Gettin' along nicely, sir," reported Mr.Bossom.

"Nicely, but peckish.
The same to you, I 'ope." "Good," was the answer.

"Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground.

Bestir, bestir!" Tilda, who for the last minute or so had been unconsciously holding Arthur Miles by the hand, was astonished of a sudden to find it trembling in hers.
"You mustn' mind what Mr.Mortimer says," she assured the child encouragingly--"it's on'y his way." Mr.Mortimer stepped jauntily across the gang-plank, declaiming with so much of gesture as a heavy market-basket permitted-- "The pirates of Parga, who dwell by the waves, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave by the beach, Smiles, the long galley and oar--" "I have done it, Smiles.