“No.”
“Pot. P—O—T, Pot.”
“Well, of course, I know that; but what does it mean?”
“Why, they’ve sat upon you, Mas’ Don, till your head won’t work; that’s what’s the matter with you, my lad. I mean treat us as if we was chyce fat sheep.”
“Nonsense, Jem!”
“Oh, is it? Well, you’ll see.”
“I hope not,” said Don, laughing.
“Ah, you may laugh, my lad, but you won’t grin that day when it comes to the worst.”
News was brought in soon after of the boats being busy taking soundings, and that night Don and Jem sat screened by the ferns high up on the mountain side, and saw the sloop of war with her sails set, and looking golden in the setting sun, gliding slowly away toward the north-east, careening slightly over before a brisk breeze, which grew stronger as they reached out farther beyond the shelter of the land; and in spite of hints from Tomati, and calls from Ngati, neither could be coaxed down till, just as it was growing dusk, Don rose and turned to his companion.
“Have we done right, Jem?”