“But what has all this to do with Peterkin?” asked Harry, as the accountant paused to relight his pipe and toss a fresh log on the fire.
“Have patience, lad; you shall hear.”
The accountant stirred the logs with his toe, drew a few whiffs to see that the pipe was properly ignited, and proceeded.
“For a day or two after this, the doctor was observed to be often mysteriously engaged in an outhouse, of which he kept the key. By some means or other, the skipper, who is always up to mischief, managed to discover the secret. Watching where the doctor hid the key, he possessed himself of it one day, and sallied forth, bent on a lark of some kind or other, but without very well knowing what. Passing the kitchen, he observed Anderson, the butler, raking the fire out of the large oven which stands in the backyard.
“‘Baking again, Anderson?’ said he in passing. ‘You get soon through with a heavy cargo of bread just now.’
“‘Yes, sir; many mouths to feed, sir,’ replied the butler, proceeding with his work.
“The skipper sauntered on, and took the track which led to the boathouse, where he stood for some time in meditation. Casting up his eyes, he saw Peterkin in the distance, looking as if he didn’t very well know what to do.
“A sudden thought struck him. Pulling off his coat, he seized a mallet and a calking-chisel, and began to belabour the side of a boat as if his life depended on it. All at once he stopped and stood up, blowing with the exertion.
“‘Hollo, Peterkin!’ he shouted, and waved his hand.
“Peterkin hastened towards him.