“’E ought to be bathed first,” said Sam, assuming the direction of affairs; “and it’s Monday night, and ’e ought to have a clean nightgown on.”
“Is ’is little bed made?” inquired the cook anxiously.
“’Is little bed’s just proper,” said Dick, patting it.
“We won’t bathe him to-night,” said Sam, as he tied a towel apron-wise round his waist; “it ’ud be too long a job. Now, ’Enery, come on to my lap.”
Aided by willing arms, he took the youth on to his knee, and despite his frantic struggles, began to prepare him for his slumbers. At the pressing request of the cook he removed the victim’s boots first, and, as Dick said, it was surprising what a difference it made. Then having washed the boy’s face with soap and flannel, he lifted him into his berth, grinning respectfully up at the face of the mate as it peered down from the scuttle with keen enjoyment of the scene.
“Is the boy asleep?” he inquired aggravatingly, as Henry’s arms and legs shot out of the berth in mad attempts to reach his tormentors.
“Sleeping like a little hangel, sir!” said Sam respectfully. “Would you like to come down and see he’s all right, sir?”
“Bless him!” said the grinning mate.
He went off, and Henry, making the best of a bad job, closed his eyes and refused to be drawn into replying to the jests of the men. Ever since he had been on the schooner he had been free from punishment of all kinds by the strict order of the skipper—a situation of which he had taken the fullest advantage. Now his power was shaken, and he lay grinding his teeth as he thought of the indignity to which he had been subjected.