"Ralph! rap him over the costard for me, and then do thou cut that pie. I'm too sticky to do it myself; and, to tell truth, my appetite's a'most gone with all this wet, and banging and shaking. I don't marvel I've got a headache, and feel a bit queer. Ugh! oh! oh, my! I wish she would not roll and pitch so," said poor Dicky ruefully.
Ralph did as he was told, and by the bright light of the stars and the lantern which swung in the rigging aloft to show the Captain's ship, he cut a large slice, and handed it to Dicky. But poor Dicky shook his head, and gave a little groan.
"I'll go and shift my clothes," he said, in a shivering voice. "I'm as wet as a drowned rat; and I can't think why I am so parlous sticky. I hope you fellows will eat up the pie, and have a merry time," added poor Dicky bravely.
This touched Maurice.
"Certes, Dicky, you are out of luck. But I'm grievous sad I put that--"
He broke into a peal of laughter, and could not go on, as he thought of the ridiculous scene.
"Well, Maurice, I don't see there's much to laugh at," grumbled Master Cheke.
"Oh--oh--I'm soothly grieved," gasped Maurice repentantly, trying to speak gravely, and then bursting out into a fresh fit of uproarious mirth.
At this moment the gruff voice of a man in the bows sung,--"Sail ho!" "Where away?" rang out from the Master. "On the starboard beam," came back the answer. "She's bearing up to cross us."
"Lower away that lantern, and luff a bit--so, steady," sung out the Master, who, after scanning the strange sail, went below to tell the Captain.