Chapter Two.
The next morning Sydney Belton rose in excellent time, but not from a desire to keep good hours. He could not sleep well, so he dressed and went out, to find it was only on the stroke of six.
As he reached the garden, there was his self-constituted enemy stretching out before him, far as eye could reach, and sparkling gloriously in the morning sunshine.
“Bother the sea!” muttered the boy, scowling. “Wish it was all dry land.”
“What cheer, lad! Mornin’, mornin’. Don’t she look lovely, eh?”
“Morning, Barney,” said the boy, turning to see that the old boatswain had come to work with a scythe over his shoulder. “What looks lovely this morning?”
“Eh? Why, the sea, of course. Wish I was afloat, ’stead of having to shave this lawn, like a wholesale barber. Got any noos?”
“Yes, Barney,” said the boy, bitterly; “I’m to go to sea.”
“Hurray!” cried the old boatswain, rubbing his scythe-blade with the stone rubber, and bringing forth a musical sound.
“You’re glad of it, then?”