There was even a gangway ladder, and her gunwale not much more than a foot above the water.
Pukkie turned his shining face to me.
"Oh, daddy," he cried, "look at her dear little jibs. Aren't they cunning?"
They were cunning and tiny.
Old Goodwin, simple-hearted gentleman that he was, was as pleased as Pukkie. He seemed delighted.
"There are other sails," he said, smiling and eager. "In the sail locker you will find a gafftopsail and a jibtopsail and a flying jib. We couldn't very well manage any more," he added to me.
"They are quite enough," I returned, "for her size—and for her crew to manage."
"She is rather deep for her length," Old Goodwin went on. "A boy can stand straight in her cabin, and a man very nearly. Go aboard, Puk, and see. Go down into the cabin."
So Pukkie, excited and solemn, went aboard, stepping carefully, and opened the cabin doors, and disappeared. We followed him on deck and looked down. There was a little table in the middle which would fold up out of the way, and there were two small transoms with little netted hammocks for the sleeper's clothes, like a sleeping-car. And there was a silver pitcher for ice water, and racks for glasses and dishes, and shelves with brass rails around them, and lockers tucked away in every corner, and a door at the forward end which should have led to the galley. Old Goodwin saw my look of incredulity, and he smiled.
"There is a galley," he said, "although a very small one. But I think a boy could manage it. About the size of a cupboard." Old Goodwin pushed the slide farther back. "We had to put this slide on her," he said apologetically, "or there couldn't have been a cabin of any use to anybody. I was sorry."