He came on deck one afternoon, after an hour spent in the fo'c'sle; it was their last day at sea, and he had been saying good-bye to his friend the boatswain, who had presented him with a marvellous trophy—a full-rigged ship, built in the most astounding fashion, inside a bottle. Dick had inspected this curiosity with bewildered awe, never dreaming that it might actually become his own; and when the boatswain gave it to him as a farewell gift he was speechless with gratitude. He carried it carefully to his cabin, and stowed it away. Then he ran up in search of his mother.
He came out on the starboard side, where a keen wind whistled that had driven nearly everyone away in search of shelter on the port deck. The only people in view were Bobby Warner and Miss Simpson; and it was evident that Bobby was very naughty. He was perched on the top of the rail, holding lightly to a stanchion, his handsome little face glowing with delighted mischief. Miss Simpson—who had the faculty of arousing all that was worst in him—was lecturing him severely.
"Are you not ashamed, Bobby? Come down at once, you naughty little boy!"
"S'an't," said Bobby calmly.
"Come down, or I shall bring your father to whip you."
"He won't," said Bobby, unmoved. "He never does."
"So I should think," said Miss Simpson, with bitterness. "It is high time he began. Come down immediately."
"You go 'way, ole fing," Bobby said, unmoved. "Don't like you."
"No one likes naughty boys like you," returned the lady, severely, "Will you come down, or must I pull you down?"
"Don't 'oo touch me," said Bobby, meeting her eyes fearlessly, as she stood angry and irresolute. "Dis is my pony—I'm goin' to ride it."