As we had a fair wind we hoisted the sail, and, soon getting away from the scene of the disaster, quickly reached the hard at Ryde. After thanking the young gentlemen and the waterman, I had jumped on shore with the child in my arms, and was stooping down to get hold of the sheep which I thought ought to be mine, or rather the little boy’s, when the waterman stopped me.
“No, no, master! you are not going to have that animal,” he said; “I want him.”
“We should not have stopped to pick up the sheep if it had not been for the little boy,” observed one of the young gentlemen; “and so, as the sheep’s life was saved on his account, the animal should go where he goes.”
The waterman, however, seemed determined to have the sheep.
“Come, master,” said I, “I will give you half a guinea, and that is as much as you will get for the animal.”
The waterman still held out.
“Come, you shall have a guinea,” said I, getting the money out of my pocket.
“And we will give five shillings apiece,” said one of the young gentlemen.
“Come, that must settle the matter,” said the other, giving the sheep a lift out of the boat.
Still the man grumbled, wanting to get more, but, handing the guinea to the young gentlemen, for the little boy being wet to the skin,—as of course I was, though that did not matter,—I wanted to be off home.