"Or a shipwreck," said Amelia, "with bread and water for a week."
"Or pirates," ventured Nannie.
"Oh, pirates," sniffed the dark young lady on the hay; "there aren't any pirates now."
"Well, there are shipwrecks," defended Tommy.
"Yes, but they are not half as interesting as they used to be."
"And desert islands."
"A few maybe. But it is such an old story to hear about Robinson
Crusoes."
Tommy looked blank. He had always implicitly believed the marvelous tales of yarn spinners, and his soul had been fired by the thought of a life of adventure on the deep. He had talked to the little girls until they had accounted him somewhat of a hero and looked to him to perform great feats of bravery.
"I don't see any fun in going to sea, then," he said, dolefully, "if there ain't any pirates and shipwrecks and things like that—"
"It isn't those things that make you love the sea, Tommy," cried Judy. "It is the smell of it, and the wind, and the wide blue water and the wide blue sky. It is something in your blood. I don't believe you really love it at all, Tommy Tolliver."