"Yes, that trunk!" he called.
In the babel of voices shouting from ship and shore, the Boy heard Princess Muckluck saying, with catches in her breath:
"I always knew I would get no luck!"
"Why?"
"Ah! I was a bad child. The baddest of all the Pymeut children."
"Yes, yes, they've got it now!" the Boy shouted up to the Captain. Then low, and smiling absently: "What did you do that was so bad. Princess?"
"Me? I—I mocked at the geese. It was the summer they were so late; and as they flew past Pymeut I—yes, I mocked at them."
A swaying and breaking of the crowd, the little trunk flung on board, the men rushing back to the wharf, the gang lifted, and the last Lower River boat swung out into the ice-flecked stream.
Keen to piercing a cry rang out—Muckluck's:
"Stop! They carry him off! It is meestake! Oh! Oh!"