The Picts & the Martyrs. Arthur Ransome

the crowd.

      “We don’t call him that now,” said Peggy.

      “We’ve spent the last two holidays breaking him in,” said Nancy.

      “He’s still shy of everybody except us,” said Peggy. “Look at him waiting while those farmers stand jabbering. Captain Flint would have barged through in two jiffs.”

      But the tall man had seen them, waved his hand, and was presently beside them. “Hullo, partners,” he said. “I had a few stores to get, and I thought I might as well see if you’d really arrived. Better let me have those suitcases.”

      “How are you getting on with the mine?” asked Dick.

      “Not so bad. We’ve cut into the vein at eleven places now, and got a lot of samples. Jim tells me you’re going to give me a hand with the assays.”

      “I’d simply love to,” said Dick.

      “Look here,” said Nancy. “You aren’t going to make him do stinks when they’ve got a new boat.”

      “Not unless he wants to. But I’ve promised Jim to get those assays done before he comes back.”

      “We can’t be sailing all the time,” said Dorothea.

      “Nancy would if she could,” laughed Timothy.

      “Qualitative or quantitative analysis?” asked Dick. “I’ve only got as far as qualitative at school.”

      “Quantitative,” said Timothy. “Assays. We know what’s there, but we want to know how much to the ounce.”

      “We’re going to miss that bus,” said Nancy.

      “We’re not,” said Timothy, and, after Dorothea had dropped her postcard into the letter-box by the booking office, the five of them squeezed into the last four seats of the station bus, and the conductor found room for the suitcases. The bus swung out of the station yard, and down through the village on its way to the steamer pier.

      “When are we going to start the assays?” asked Dick.

      “Working in the houseboat to-morrow,” said Timothy. “The day after to-morrow I’m going up to the mine. We might get at the assays the day after that.”

      “Not unless there’s a dead calm,” said Nancy.

      “If you want to have a look at your mine, you could come up to High Topps with me the day after to-morrow. I’ll call for you on the way.”

      “Look here,” protested Nancy. “They’ve got a boat.”

      “They’ve never seen the mine since last summer,” said Peggy.

      “There isn’t much to see,” said Timothy. “The interesting stuff is what Dick and I are going to do in your uncle’s study.”

      “Just stinks,” said Nancy, but Dick and Timothy looked at each other with a private grin.

      At the steamer pier they left the bus, and Timothy carried the suitcases out along one of the small landing stages. Two boats were tied up there. One was the Amazon, with her Jolly Roger fluttering from her masthead. The other was the old grey rowing boat that usually lay against fenders alongside Captain Flint’s houseboat. Her stern was full of parcels, for Timothy Stedding had been buying stores. He now unfastened his painter, stepped in, and put out his oars.

      “See you the day after to-morrow,” he said. “No need to come up to the mine unless you want to, but I’ll look in just in case.”

      “Aren’t you coming to see their boat?” said Nancy.

      “Not now,” said Timothy. “I’m a working man. Busy. I’ll see her soon enough when you come sailing along and fetch up with a bump against Jim’s new paint.”

      “We never do,” said Nancy. “Remember when we came and made you and Uncle Jim walk the plank last summer? We were aboard and rushing the cabin before you knew we were anywhere near.”

      “I’ll look in early the day after to-morrow,” said Timothy. “So long, partners!”

      They said “Good-bye,” and watched him as he laid to his oars and went rowing away between Long Island and the point with the boatbuilders’ sheds, on his way to Houseboat Bay.

      “Boats mean nothing to him at all,” said Nancy. “He always says he’d rather walk. Uncle Jim says he’s first-rate on mountains … Uncle Jim’s too fat … And he says it wouldn’t do for everybody to be web-footed. Come on, Dick. You’ve seen enough of Timothy. Hop in. You sit on the suitcases, Peggy, and Dot in the stern. I’ll row across the bay.”

      Five minutes later Amazon was slipping alongside one of the little landing stages that ran out from the boatbuilders’ sheds. Wherever the new boat was, she was certainly not in the water. The old boatbuilder saw them rowing in, and came out on the stage to meet them.

      “Isn’t she ready?” asked Nancy.

      The old boatbuilder did not even think he needed to say he was sorry. “You’ll be wanting to see her,” he said, making fast Amazon’s painter. “But you must let the varnish dry. And the sail’s been dressed. I’ve got it drying now in the loft.” He led the way into the shed and Dick and Dorothea saw for the first time the first boat they had ever owned. She lay upside down on trestles, her bottom shiny with smooth black varnish, her sides gleaming gold in the sunshine that slanted through the open door.

      “Is she only thirteen feet?” asked Dick. “She looks much bigger.”

      “She’s as near the same as your boat as we could make her,” the old boatbuilder said to Nancy. “That’s what Mr. Turner said was wanted. You’ll be racing, I dare say.”

      “Yes, yes,” said Nancy. “But the holidays have begun and they want her now. Uncle Jim’s quite right. You know what he said?”

      “Nay, I don’t.”

      “He said you were bound to be late with her because the only boatbuilder who ever finished a boat on time was Noah, and he only did it because he knew he’d be drowned if he didn’t.”

      “He’s one for joking, is Mr. Turner,” said the old man.

      “But when will she be ready?” asked Nancy.

      “Last coat of varnish … rifle of rigging … another coat to the oars … anchor should be here in the morning … You can have her the day after to-morrow. Better say the day after that.”

      Dick knelt on the ground to look up into her from below. Dorothea, hardly believing that she was really looking at their own boat, twisted her head to read the name, SCARAB, upside down on her transom. Dick got to his feet again, saw her rudder leaning against the wall of the shed, and, privately, felt the tiller in his hand.

      “That’s quite all right,” he said. “We don’t want to put her in the water till she’s ready.” He turned to Nancy. “We’ll be able to go to High Topps the day after to-morrow without wasting any time.”

      “We’ll leave her to-morrow and the next day,” said Nancy. “But the day after that we’ll come for her.” She looked hard at the boatbuilder. “She really will be ready for them by then?”

      “She will that.”

      “If she isn’t,” said Nancy, “we can’t raise a flood, but we’ll jolly well burn down the shed.”

      “And welcome,” said the old boatbuilder. “But you won’t need to. She’ll be afloat and waiting for you.”

      With white sail set and a southerly wind, the Amazon ran swiftly back