"Of course you can't," cried the boy laughingly; "it's miles and miles away, at Portsmouth."
"Well, can't you see Portsmouth?" asked Dot.
"Of course not—without Pa's big telescope that he has on board."
The Skipper set down his ship in the sand, trimmed the sails a little, took out the boiler and half filled it with water, put it back, and took a box of matches from his pocket; Dot looking on with a face screwed up, from the interest she took in the business. Then a match was struck, while she held the straw hat to shelter the flame; and kneeling there, with the model's keel buried deep in the sand, the Skipper lit the lamp, but not without scorching the foresail a little.
The next minute the "Flash" was launched, but remained aground in the shallow water.
Dot knew her business, though, and handed her brother one of the sticks, with which he reached out and gave the vessel a good push, that sent it into deep water, where the light breeze filled out the sails, and away went the "Flash" toward the other side, while the two children started off to walk round past the penstock where the water was so deep, and where, during the past year Captain Trevor had brought his son to teach him how to swim, giving him lessons until he had felt brave enough to run out along the boards, and jump, head first, right out into the water.
When he could do that without feeling afraid, diving down ever so far toward the sandy bottom, and, coming up again ready to shake his head and follow his father, Captain Trevor told him he could swim.
Bob liked it then, but he never told his father how frightened he used to feel at first.
They were approaching this penstock, which was really a great square pipe, made of thick boards nailed to posts, and with a sliding door at the end, which could be pulled up to let some of the water run out when the pool was too full, and as they reached it, while the little vessel was sailing away nearly as fast as they could walk, Bob ran out to the end of the wooden drain.