We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea. Arthur Ransome

said the Goblin’s skipper. “You can let her swing astern, so long as you keep her clear of the Imp.”

      “That’s the name of his dinghy,” said Titty, looking at a tiny black pram dinghy that had been towing after the Goblin.

      “Is she the Imp because she’s black?” whispered Roger, “Or does he have her black because she’s an imp?”

      John, standing in the cockpit, was holding the crutches in place. The skipper at the foot of the mast was slowly lowering the boom. John guided it between the jaws of the crutches.

      “Say when,” said the skipper.

      “Now,” said John.

      The end of the boom dropped another six inches into the jaws of the crutches, and John, hauling in the slack of the main-sheet, made it fast as the skipper came aft.

      “Hullo,” he said, “you’ve been in a boat before.”

      “We’ve only sailed very little ones,” said John. “By ourselves, I mean.”

      “Let’s have those tyers. Starboard locker. . . Just by your hand.”

      John found the bundle of tyers, like strips of broad tape. He joined the skipper on the cabin top. Together they pulled and tugged at the great heap of crimson canvas. “Hang on to this for a minute. . . Hold this while I get that lump straightened out. . . Pull this as hard as you can. . .” Gradually the mainsail turned into a neat roll along the top of the boom. Each bit, as they got it right, was tied firmly down.

      “Hullo! Is that the last tyer? There ought to be one more.”

      “Is this it?” An eager voice spoke from the cockpit. Roger, standing on one of the cockpit seats, had the missing tyer in his hand. Titty was in the cockpit, too, and even Susan, who had had doubts about it, had not been able to stay behind.

      You never knew what Roger might be doing, and she had thought it best to follow him.

      “When did you come aboard?” said John. “I say, you don’t mind, do you?” he added, turning to the Goblin’s skipper.

      “He said we were to let the dinghy go astern,” said Roger. “So we did.”

      “The more the merrier,” said the young man. “Plenty of work for everybody. All those ropes on the cockpit floor to be coiled.”

      He put on the last tyer and, followed by John, went forward to tidy up the foredeck.

      “I say, just look down,” said Titty.

      They looked down into the cabin of the little ship, at blue mattresses on bunks on either side, at a little table with a chart tied down to it with string, at a roll of blankets in one of the bunks, at a foghorn in another, and at a heap of dirty plates and cups and spoons in a little white sink opposite the tiny galley, where a saucepan of water was simmering on one of the two burners of a little cooking stove.

      “Look here,” said Susan. “Hadn’t we better get on with those ropes. We oughtn’t to be here at all really. We’re going to be late for supper. . .”

      One by one they disentangled the ropes from the mass on the floor of the cockpit, coiled each one separately and laid it on a seat. Meanwhile John and the skipper were busy on the fore-deck, closing the hatch, coiling the buoy rope, throwing overboard handfuls of green seaweed, dipping the mop over the side, sousing water on the deck and sweeping the mud from the mooring chain away and out of the scuppers. In about ten minutes nobody could have guessed that the Goblin had only just come in from the sea.

      “This water’s nearly boiling,” called Susan, who had been admiring the little stove.

      “Turn off the juice,” the skipper called back. “Turn the knob to the right. No need to let the water boll. It’s only for washing up.” He was standing on the cabin top, reaching up to the screens on the shrouds, and presently John and he, one with a big red lantern and one with a big green, came aft to the cockpit.

      “Well done,” he laughed, looking at the neat coils of rope. “Shove them into the lockers out of the way.”

      “Sidelights?” said Roger.

      “Yes. Empty, too. They burnt out this morning, but it was light enough then, so it didn’t matter. I ought to have brought them in, but forgot.”

      “Gosh!” said Roger. “Were you sailing in the dark?”

      “Left Dover two o’clock yesterday,” said the skipper of the Goblin.

      “He’s been sailing all night,” said Roger. “Did you hear?”

      “All by himself,” said Titty.

      The skipper looked at his mainsail, at the halyards, at the decks. “She’ll do,” he said. “Now I’ll just get through the washing up. Rule of the ship never to go ashore with washing up undone. And then. . .” he yawned and rubbed his eyes. . . “I’ll see what the Butt can do for me by way of breakfast. . .”

      “BREAKFAST!”

      THE “BUTT AND OYSTER” AND ALMA COTTAGE

      Susan, Titty and Roger all exclaimed together.

      “But it’s nearly seven o’clock. Haven’t you had anything to eat all day?”

      “Biscuits,” he said. “And a thermos full of hot soup that I’d made before starting. But I never thought I’d be so long.”

      “We’ll do the washing up,” said Susan. “It won’t take us two minutes.

      “Come on, then.” He stifled another yawn. “I never refuse a good offer.”

      Down they went into the cabin, climbing down the steep steps of the companion, between the sink full of the things to be washed up on one side, and the stove in the little galley on the other.

      “There’s an engine,” exclaimed Roger, looking in under the steps. “Look here, Titty, that’s my face.”

      “Sorry,” said Titty, who had reached down with one foot and found Roger’s forehead with it instead of a step.

      “Come along you,” said Jim. “Into that corner so that the others can come down. You can look at the engine afterwards.”

      “I’m going to sit next to it,” said Roger.

      Presently they were all in the cabin, sitting on the bunks, peering forward at two more bunks in the fore-cabin, looking at bookshelf and barometer and clock, at the chart on the table, and at a big envelope labelled “SHIP’S PAPERS.” The owner of the Goblin stooped down to reach into a cupboard under the galley. He brought out a handful of dish-cloths, emptied the saucepan into the sink, sloshed in some washing soda out of a tin, and then made room for Susan, while he put away the Ship’s Papers, cleared the chart off the table, and spread in place of it a wide strip of white, shiny American cloth. As fast as Susan washed the things they were dumped on one end of the table, seized by one of the wipers and, when dry, put at the other end.

      “You people don’t belong to Pin Mill,” said the young man, who seemed to touch the roof of the cabin when he was standing up looking down at his busy helpers.

      “We only came yesterday,” said Roger.

      “Stopping long?”

      “We don’t know yet,” said Titty. “But we probably are. We’ve come to meet Daddy. He’s going to be stationed at Shotley and that’s quite near.”

      “He’s on his way home from China,” said John.

      “He may be here almost any day,” said Susan. . . “Roger, that mug isn’t half dry.”

      “He