"Rouse up, sir, look alive! Steamer close aboard of us. She's whistling; she's seen us. I waved to her. Now we must leave this sinking boat."
I started up. The evening had fallen. The Osprey was half full of water. I had been dreaming of sinking—the reality was very near.
"Let us shout," I cried. "Say we're sinking, Tim."
"That's no lie, Mister Jule. The steamer sees us right enough. Will she be in time?"
"What a time she takes," I muttered. "Somehow I can't believe it all. Is it really true, Tim?"
"Rather!" replied Tim. "There's the boat launched! Don't you believe the water's up to your boots now? Look at it!"
I suppose I was still half asleep. I gazed at the swishing sea, and had no fear.
"All right, I can swim! You said we wouldn't, Tim!"
"You're nearer sinkin'," he answered. "Dad will never see the home again, arter all. Well, well, it's the Lord's will, that it is."
It was a sad and painful ending to a boating excursion. But at least we were saved, and going home. How delightful it would be to see mother again, to tell her all my adventures, to confess my temper, and to try to do all she had told me to please Mr. Bentham. Yes, I made up my mind to behave well, and give up the sea—if I must.