“Is that how sailors stretches their legs?” said Pan, slowly.
“Yes, it be. Now then, what have you got to say to that?”
“You arn’t a sailor, father.”
“What? Hear him, Master Syd? That’s just what I am, boy, and you too. We’re all on us outward bound; and now you come along, and I’ll just show you something with a rope’s-end.”
“Why, I aren’t been doing nothing now,” cried Pan, drawing back.
“Who said you had, you swab! Heave ahead. Stow talking and get that there rope. I’m going to give you your first lesson in knotting and splicing. Ah, you’ve got something to larn now, my lad. Go and run that there barrow and them tools into the shed. No more gardening. Come on into the yard, Master Syd, and we’ll rig up that there big pole, and a yard across it, and I’ll show you both how to lay out with your feet in the sturrup. Come on.”
“But, Master Syd, father isn’t going to sea again, is he?”
“Yes, Pan, we’re all off to join a fine frigate.”
“And make men on you both,” cried Barney. “Lor’, it’s a wonder to me how I’ve managed to live this ’long-shore life so long. Come on, my lads. No, no, don’t walk like that. Think as you’ve got a deck under your feet, and run along like this.”
Barney set the example, and Syd laughed again, for the gardener seemed to have gone back ten years of big life, and trotted along as active as a boy.