"This would be real jolly," said Tom, "if it wasn't that the folks at home must be worried," and then he began to sing, for he really could not be sad:
"A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
A house in a watery cave—
Where I might rest in sleep!"
"Did you ever hear such a song?" cried Nellie, and Tom went on:
"The boy stood on the burning deck,
Munching apples by the peck;
The captain yelled, he stood stock-still,
For of those apples he wanted his fill!"
"Tom Rover!" burst out Dora. "I believe you would sing at your own funeral!" And Tom continued gayly:
"Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main,
For many a stormy wind shall blow,
Ere the Rovers get home again!"
"Tom lives on songs," said Sam slyly. "He'd rather sing than eat a pie."
"Pie!" thundered Tom tragically. "Who said pie? I haven't seen a home-made pie since—since—"
"The time you went down in the pantry at midnight and ate two," finished Dick, and then there was a burst of laughter.
"Never mind, Tom, I'll make you half a dozen pies—when we get home," came from Nellie.