He swelled out his little chest, and gave it a sounding thump as he rose, and, rolling up his shirt-sleeves to the shoulder, seized an oar. Gaff took the other, and both sat down to the slow, dreary, monotonous toil of another day.
At first the Bu’ster was chatty, but by degrees his tongue flagged, and ere long it became quite silent.
For six or eight hours they pulled without intermission, except for a few minutes at a time, every hour or so, and Gaff directed the boat’s head in the direction to which the captain had pointed when he said the land might be about five hundred miles off.
When the sun was getting low on the horizon, Billy stopped with a sigh—
“Ain’t it time for dinner, daddy, d’ye think?”
“Hold on a bit, lad, I’m goin’ to let ye tak’ a sleep soon, an’ it’ll be best to eat just afore lyin’ down.”
No more was said, and the rowing was continued until the sun had set, and the shades of night were beginning to descend on the sea.
“Now, lad, we’ll sup,” said Stephen, with a hearty air, as he pulled in his oar.
“Hooray!” cried Billy faintly, as he jumped up and went to the stern, where his father soon produced the biscuit-bag and measured out the two small portions.
“Cheatin’ again, daddy,” cried the Bu’ster with a remonstrative tone and look.