"She'd float if she was full of water," said the old man, as the craft "righted."
"But maybe the spars wouldn't stand," said the boy, anxiously.
"'Tis what I'm thinking," rejoined the father. "There's a shake in the mast, below the caps."
"Tell him it's better to bear up, and go before it," whispered the lad, with a gesture toward where I was lying.
"Troth it's little he'd care," said the other; "besides, he's never plazed to be woke up."
"Here it comes again," cried the boy. But this time the squall swept past ahead of us, and the craft only reeled to the swollen waves, as they tore by.
"We'd better go about, sir," said Tom to me; "there's a heavy sea outside, and it's blowing hard now."
"And there's a split in the mast as long as my arm," cried the boy.
"I thought she'd live through any sea, Tom!" said I, laughing; for it was his constant boast that no weather could harm her.
"There goes the spar," shouted he, while with a loud snap the mast gave way, and fell with a crash over the side. The boat immediately came head to wind, and sea after sea broke upon her bow, and fell in great floods over us.