“Why, mother,” said Mark, “anyone would think you were at home.”
“Well,” she replied smiling, “is it not home where your father is.”
The reply was unanswerable, and being too restless to stay below when all was so novel on deck, Mark soon after went to where, by the light of many lanterns, about a third of the crew, supplemented by a gang of men from the dock, were hard at work trying to restore order in the hold.
“Hallo, youngster!” said a sharp voice; “don’t get in the way. Here, hallo, old what’s-your-name! Come here.”
Bruff gave his tail a wag, and butted the first-mate’s leg, submitting afterwards to being patted in the most friendly manner.
“Good dog that, young Strong.”
The mate did not wait to hear what was said in reply, but dived down into the hold, while Mark joined his father.
“This is trying to bring order out of chaos, Mark,” he said good-humouredly; and then turned sharply to look at a strange, gaunt sailor who came up and touched his hat.
“Hallo! Who are you? Oh, I see; our stowaway friend!”
“Yes, sir. Can I help, sir?”