“Honi soit qui mal y pense!” he said, solemnly. “Honey, suet, marling-spikes, and pens! I’m in a fix now. Jack, dear boy, are you behind me? I daren’t look round for the world!”
“I’m here,” I answered, choking with laughter.
“Pray for me, Jack. I’ll do as much for you again. Goodness gracious, Jack! if I’ve got to leave the saddle now, I’ll be death of this darling child. If the horse should stumble or baby should kick, it’s all up with us; and I haven’t made my will either.”
Here the baby sneezed, and Peter swayed unsteadily in the saddle.
“Hoop!” he cried. “I did think it was all up with me then. Jack, will you have baby?”
“Not I, thank you.”
“Jill, you’re a dear, good fellow. You’ll take the baby, won’t you? The mother has gone away forward somewhere. Do, old man. I’ll never call you Greenie again.”
“I won’t have little copper-face.”
“Well, then,” said Peter, doggedly, “if it should sneeze again there’ll be manslaughter. That’s all.”
But, greatly to our shipmate’s relief, back came Nadi, and once more secured her darling. Peter smiled now, but he gave a big sigh of relief that might have been heard all over the Pampas.