His friends laughed at him.
“It is somewhat late to seize your rifle now, my boy,” said McBain; “supposing now we’d been a bear, why, we would be eating you at this present moment.”
“Or making a mouse of you,” added Ralph, “as the yellow bear did of poor Freezing Powders; and at this very minute you’d be—
“‘Dancin’ for de dear life
Among de Greenland snow.’”
“I was reading,” said Rory, smiling, “that beautiful poem of Wordsworth, We are seven.”
“Wordsworth’s We are seven?” cried Ralph, laughing. “Oh! Row, Row, you’ll be the death of me some day. Since when did you learn to read with your book upside down?”
“Had I now?” said Rory, with an amused look of candour. “In troth I daresay you are right.”
“But come on, Row, boy,” continued Ralph, “luncheon is all ready, Peter is waiting, and after lunch Silas Grig is going to show as some fun.”
“What more malley-shooting?” asked Rory.
“No, Row, boy,” was the reply; “he is going to lead us forth to battle against the sharks.”