Part 13 (2/2)
_”Why, messmates, as we're all agreed Sea-bathing is the thing they need, Let's drop these hinfants off the quarter!”
(They did, in fourteen fathom water)._
--and here the story came abruptly to an end.
Davy was quite distressed at this, particularly as the dreadful thought came into his mind that some babies do not know how to swim, and he was therefore very well satisfied when he saw that the old Sea-Dog had apparently changed his mind about going away, and was swaggering along toward him again.
”If you please,” said Davy, as the surly creature came within hearing distance,--”if you please, sir, were the two little captains drowned?”
”Well, sticking, as it were, to the truth, they were not,” replied the old Sea-Dog, very gruffly.
”Then, why don't you say so in the story?” said Davy.
Now, this was pretty bold of him, for old Sea-Dogs don't much like to have fault found with their verses, and this particular old Sea-Dog evidently did not like it at all, for, after staring at Davy for a moment, he began walking slowly around him in such a threatening manner that Davy, thinking that perhaps he meant to jump on him from behind, began also turning so as to keep his face always toward the Dog.
Meanwhile, as you may well believe, he began to feel very sorry that he had said anything about the verses.
Presently the old Sea-Dog broke into a clumsy canter, like a weary old circus horse, and as he went heavily around the circle he began to explain about the story. ”You see there's more of it,” said he, wheezing dreadfully as he galloped; ”but then I haven't had the time to put the rest of it in rhyme. It's all about old Thompson's crew as stayed aboard the 'Soaking Sue,' and saw the skippers floating by and hauled 'em out and got 'em dry, and when the little creeturs cried they gave 'em something warm inside, and being as they had no bed they stowed 'em in a bunk instead,”--but just at this moment the old Sea-Dog, who had been constantly increasing his speed, disappeared in a most extraordinary manner in a whirling cloud of sand, and Davy, who was by this time spinning around like a teetotum, discovered that he himself was rapidly boring his way, like a big screw, down into the beach. This was, of course, a very alarming state of things; but, before Davy could make an effort to free himself, the whirling cloud of sand burst upon him with a loud, roaring sound like the sea, and he felt himself going directly down through the beach, with the sand pouring in upon him as if he had been inside of a huge hour-gla.s.s. He had just time to notice that, instead of sc.r.a.ping him, the sand had a delightful ticklesome feeling about it, when he went completely through the beach, and landed, with a gentle thump, flat on his back, with tall gra.s.s waving about him.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE END OF THE BELIEVING VOYAGE.
When Davy sat up and looked around him he found himself in a beautiful meadow, with the sun s.h.i.+ning brightly on the gra.s.s and the wild flowers.
The air was filled with dainty-colored insects, darting about in the warm suns.h.i.+ne, and chirping cheerily as they flew, and at a little distance the Goblin was sitting on the gra.s.s, attentively examining a great, struggling creature that he was holding down by its wings.
”I suppose,” said the Goblin, as if Davy's sudden appearance was the most ordinary thing in the world,--”I suppose that this is about the funniest bug that flies.”
”What is it?” said Davy, cautiously edging away.
”It's a Cricket-Bat,” said the Goblin, rapping familiarly with his knuckles on its hard sh.e.l.l. ”His body is like a boot-jack, and his wings are like a pair of umbrellas.”
”But, you know, a Cricket-Bat is something to play with!” said Davy, surprised at the Goblin's ignorance.
”Well, _you_ may play with it if you like. _I_ don't want to,” said the Goblin, carelessly tossing the great creature over to Davy, and walking away.
The Cricket-Bat made a swoop at Davy, knocking him over like a feather, and then, with a loud snort, flew away across the meadow. It dashed here and there at flying things of every kind, and, turning on its side, knocked them, one after another, quite out of sight, until, to Davy's delight, the c.o.c.kalorum came into view, flying across the meadow in his usual blundering fas.h.i.+on. At sight of him the Cricket-Bat gave another triumphant snort, and with a wild plunge at the great creature knocked him floundering into the tall gra.s.s, and with a loud, whirring sound disappeared in a distant wood.
Davy ran to the spot where the c.o.c.kalorum had fallen, and found him sitting helplessly in the gra.s.s, looking dreadfully rumpled, and staring about confusedly, as if wondering what had happened to him. As Davy came running up he murmured, in a reproachful way, ”Oh! it's you, is it?
Well, then, I don't want any more of it.”
”Upon my word I didn't do it,” cried Davy, trying to keep from laughing.
”It was the Cricket-Bat.”
”And what did _he_ want?” murmured the c.o.c.kalorum, very sadly.
”Oh! he was only having a game of cricket with you,” said Davy, soothingly. ”You were the ball, you know.”
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