“Come on!” they seemed to cry. “I won’t run away; I’m not afraid of such as you. Come on, and be eaten up.”
There were two “hands” in the ship who took great delight in these pleasure parties; one was Paddy, the other the boy Bounce, and both constituted themselves Dr Barrett’s special attendants and body-guard. Paddy, of course, carried a rifle; and, after some preliminary training, boy Bounce was permitted to do so likewise. And right proud was the lad to march at his master’s heels with his gun and his shot-belts.
His master was terribly absent-minded.
Boy Bounce used to relate of an evening, to his special friend—on board—the cook, how many times a day he saved his master’s life.
“Blowed if he wouldn’t walk right into the river sometimes!” said boy Bounce, “if I didn’t holler at ’im; or over a cliff, if I didn’t pull ’im back by the coat-tails.”
One fine sunny day the doctor was sitting sketching a pretty snow scene—ice, mountain, glen, and waterfall, and the boy Bounce was lying not far from his feet, facing him.
“Ahem!” began the boy. “I say, sir.”
“Well, well, well?” cried the doctor, impatiently.
“It’s a dee-licious morning—ain’t it, sir?”
The surgeon made no reply, but went on sketching.