“Why shouldn’t I remember it?” Mr. Silburn asked, a little petulantly. “I handed it to Blinkey, and they got away from the schooner all right. Has anything been heard from them yet?”
“Blinkey is safe in England,” Kit replied, as he took off his father’s shoes and put on his slippers. “But you and he are the only ones who have been heard of.”
“Oh, well, they’ll be all right,” Mr. Silburn exclaimed; “they were good tight boats, and—no, our boat went to pieces, though. I get these things so mixed. My head’s all in a muddle with trying to remember, and it tires me. I think you’d better help me get to bed, Kit. I’ll be rested by morning.”
“Kit!” he called, as Kit was tucking the bedclothes snugly about him; “you still here, Kit?”
“Yes; here I am, father.”
“And you’ve come all the way to New Zealand to take me home?”
“Yes; we’re going home just as fast as we can.”
“And you won’t go without me, Kit?”
“Do you think I’d be likely to do such a thing, father?” Kit asked.
“No, you wouldn’t, Kit; you always were a good boy. And I’ll be rested by morning.” And with Kit’s hand firmly clutched in his he closed his eyes and gave up trying to remember.