“Fare thee well, Old Cinder,” Jack would shout.
And Uncle Robert would pretend to growl like an old sea-lion, and shake his stick at the pair of them as they scampered off, looking nearly all legs, like the figures on the old Manx pennies.
Young as Tommy was, he had a very complete knowledge of geography, and even a smattering of navigation; for he had declared his intention of becoming a sailor, and nothing else. But this knowledge of his was not such as you learn in books alone; but from books, and maps, and charts, and the big globe itself. Tommy actually knew and felt he was in the world, and not inside the cover of a book. And if you asked him where any country was he pointed in the direction of it at once, taking his bearings as it were by the sun or stars, and the time of day or night it happened to be at the time the question was put.
Their school was the hermitage in the woods, and here they laboured away most earnestly all the forenoon. Then they laid aside their books, and while uncle and ’Theena went outside to squat on the green-sward, Tom—we shall not call him Tommy any more—got ready the luncheon. A very simple repast it was—cheese and cake, and creamy milk.
Then uncle would light his pipe and perhaps tell a story, and after this they started off in pursuit of pleasure.
Were there not fish in the rivers, and shells by the sea-shore, and wondrous creatures of fur and feather in the woods and on the hills, beautiful insects everywhere, and wild-flowers everywhere?
So passed one summer quickly away; and another summer and another winter after that, and now Tom was thirteen and ’Theena was nine and over. Tom was a man, at least he thought he was; and now, dearly though he loved his old home, an almost irresistible longing took possession of him to go to sea—to sail away and see the world and all that is in it.
For Tom was already a sailor. One might hardly think this possible, until told that for a year and more hardly a fine day dawned that did not see Uncle Robert and him, and as often as not little ’Theena also, afloat in uncle’s little yacht-boat. This saucy wee craft had been a man-o’-war’s cutter, sold as unfit for further service. But Uncle Robert had bought her, and had her brought round to the bay of Craigie, and there turned bottom upwards in old Dem Harrison’s boat-shed. And between the pair of them, aided by Tom and ’Theena, who did the looking-on, they soon made the hull seaworthy.
No flimsy work either. Wherever a plank was in the slightest degree decayed, it was taken out and a light, hard new one put in; the very best of copper nails being used, and nothing else. Then she was painted inside and out. This done, she was “whomeld,” as old Dem called it—that is, turned right side up; and so they proceeded to put a raised deck upon her, and step a nice raking mast with fore-and-aft mainsail and topsail and jibs to match. Fine big jibs they were too; honest spreads of canvas, having no resemblance to either a baby’s blanket or a biscuit sack. The wee yacht had an excellent rudder also, and a false keel that could be raised or lowered at pleasure, or to suit circumstances.
You must understand that the Oceana, as she was called, after ’Theena, had the most darling little saloon it is possible to imagine. To be sure, Uncle Robert looked a bit crowded in it; but when Tom and ’Theena were there by themselves, with only uncle’s legs dangling down the companion as he sat steering, the place seemed just made for them. There was a couch at each side, supported by lockers, and prettily upholstered in crimson. There was a lamp in gimbals to burn at night, a natty little locker containing all sorts of dishes and all kinds of dainties, and brackets in the corners with pockets for flowers, and sconces for coloured candles; besides a rack for arms and fishing-gear; while the white paint, the gilding, and the mirrors completed the picture and made the place double the size it really was.