"'T, H, E,' The," began Margaret. "'P, L, E, A,—' It's too hard for me. What does it spell?"
"'The Pleasant Dream'," replied the Admiral. "Good name, isn't it?"
"Very good," Margaret agreed. "Because it is almost like a boat in a dream, the way it skips from one wave to the next."
In fact, the boat went so fast and made such a breeze that Margaret could not keep her hat on. She therefore placed it in her lap and tied her handkerchief over her head instead. As she cocked her chin sideways to tie the knot, she happened to catch sight of the Crew out of the corner of her eye. To her surprise he was sitting cross-legged on the deck behind the wheel, a little looking-glass in his hand and the medicine chest before him, busily repairing the dent in his nose with some putty.
"Why don't you—?" she began; but remembering that it was against the rules of the navy to speak to the man at the wheel, she turned to the Admiral instead, and said:
"Why doesn't he attend to the steering?"
"He's busy just now," replied the Admiral, "but he will directly. And, anyhow," he added, "it doesn't make much difference: there isn't any rudder."
"No rudder!" cried Margaret in astonishment; for she had always understood that the rudder was the most important part of a ship.
"No. But that is not of the least consequence: I know the way."
The children did not know very much about boats, but it certainly did seem a queer way of managing things. Nevertheless, though the Admiral, riding backwards, never turned his head to see which way they were going, and though the Crew, having puttied up the dent in his nose, was now so busy with a paint-brush, painting the patch to match the rest of his complexion, that he never looked up, The Pleasant Dream continued on its course as straight as an arrow, skimming the waves like a seagull. So the children, concluding it was all right, settled themselves comfortably on their cushions, prepared to enjoy their outing.