During the fight little Nelda was in terrible distress, and, but for Janeira, she would doubtless have rushed forward, as she wanted to do, in order to “help daddy and ’Ansey.”
Bob was the first to bring her tidings of the victory.
He came aft at full gallop, almost threw himself down the companion-way, and next moment was licking the child’s tear-bedewed cheeks.
She could see joy in the poor dog’s face. He was full of it, and trying as much as ever dog did try to talk. Perhaps he never fully realised till now how awkward it is for a doggie to want a tail. But he did what he could, nevertheless, with the morsel of fag-end he had.
“Don’t cry, little mistress,” he was trying hard to say, “don’t cry. It’s all right now. And it was such fun to see them fighting, and I fought too. Oh, didn’t I bite and tear the rascals just.”
Even the ’Ral seemed to know that the danger was past and gone for a time, and nothing would suffice to allay his feelings save executing a kind of wild jig right on the top of the skylight—a thing he had never done before.
But although quieted now, Nelda was not quite content, till down rushed Ransey Tansey himself. With a joyful cry she flew to his arms, and he did all he could to reassure her; so successfully, too, that presently she was her happy little self once more, playing with Bob on the quarterdeck, as if nothing had happened. Blissful childhood.
The condition of affairs, after the ship had penetrated into the regions of ice and snow, was not an enviable one, although there was now a rent in the dark cloud that hovered over the Sea Flower—a lull in the terrible storm.