“Wos he a big or a little feller?” inquired Rokens, panting from his exertions, as he swept up to the boat containing the hospital warder, round which several of the other boats began to congregate.
“A big fellow, I guess, with legs like steeples. He was sloping when they floored him. A thief, I expect he must ha’ bin.”
“A thief!” echoed Rokens, in disgust; “why didn’t ye say, so at first? If he’s a thief, he’s born to be hanged, so he’s safe and snug aboard his ship long ago, I’ll be bound. Good-night t’ye, friend, and better luck next time.”
A loud laugh greeted the ears of the discomfited warder as the crews of the boats dipped their oars in the water and pulled towards, their respective ships.
Next morning, about daybreak, little Alice Dunning came on board her father’s ship, accompanied by her two aunts, who, for once, became utterly and publicly regardless of appearances and contemptuous of all propriety, as they sobbed on the child’s neck and positively refused to be comforted.
Just as the sun rose, and edged the horizon with a gleam of liquid fire, the Red Eric spread her sails and stood out to sea.