We never really thought of running it up, of course, but it was nice to have it. We felt then we w’ere pirates, in imagination at all events.
Now here is a singular thing which I must relate. One morning after being called by Tom—this was a regular part of Tom’s duty—I looked round to Jill’s cot, and there he was sitting bolt upright in it, with that sunny smile on his innocent sleepy face.
“What’s up, Jill?” I asked.
“You’re not,” said Jill, “though I heard Tom sing out, ‘Five bells, young gentlemen, please,’ more than half an hour ago.”
Then the next words spoken were said by both at precisely the same time, syllabic by syllable as if we had been wound up to it.
“I’ve had such a funny dream.”
We looked at each other, then I said:
“What was yours, Jill?”
“Nay,” said Jill, “you tell me yours first, because you know you are the eldest.”
“Well, I dreamt we had captured the Thunderbolt, hoisted the black flag and run off to sea with her.”