Then three times round went that gallant ship—
(Here we were commanded by the mistress of the revels, in a hoarse and hurried stage whisper, to be ready to fall down)
—And sank to the bottom—of—the—sea!"
"Now all fall down!" screamed Phillis.
We did so, and lay on the grass in serried heaps. The remark which the Admiral made when my left elbow descended upon his goutiest foot was fortunately obscured by the fact that his face was inside his hat at the moment.
After that we performed the "most lamentable comedy" of "The Three Bears." Phillis assigned the parts, reserving for herself the rôle of Curly Locks and Stage Manager. Dolly was cast for Mother Bear, Captain Dermott for Father Bear, and I for Baby Bear. The Admiral, at his own urgent request, was allotted the comparatively unimportant part of Baby Bear's bed, and sat nursing his foot and observing with keen relish the preparations of the Bear family for their morning walk. We set out at last, all three on our hands and knees, Dolly and Dermott crawling amicably side by side, heroically regardless of white skirt and Sunday sporran; I, as befitted my youth and station, bringing up the rear.
The Bears having vacated their domicile (the grass plot), Curly Locks, after much furtive peeping round bushes, entered and advanced to the rustic table, where she proceeded to test the contents of the various porridge-bowls (represented by two tobacco-pouches and an ash-tray respectively).
"Too hot!" she said, after sampling the first bowl.
"Too cold!" she continued, trying the next.
"A-a-ah!" she cried, coming to the third; and swallowed its contents (some heather-tops) with every appearance of enjoyment.