“I did, but it was no use.”
Tavish gave a snort, opened the locker in the bows, and then began to toss out the water like a jerky cascade, Max watching him wildly, but, to his great relief, seeing the water begin gradually to sink.
“She’s knockit a creat hole in her pottom,” said Long Shon. “Tit she hit on ta rocks?”
“No, no; it came on all of a sudden.”
“Why, she’s cot ta cork oot!” cried Tavish, drawing his sleeve up above his elbow, and thrusting his arm down to lift one of the bottom boards beneath the centre thwart, and feeling about for a few moments before turning reproachfully to Max.
“She shouldna pull oot ta cork.”
“No,” said Long Shon. “She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot. She’s pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in.”
Tavish growled as he recommenced baling, and then smiled at Max.
“I did not touch it. I did not know there was a cork,” said the latter rather piteously.
“Then she must ha’ come out hersel’,” said Tavish. “Ye’ll know next time what to do.”