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

      “Miss Powell’s? You couldn’t be in a better place. Look here, what are your names? Mine’s Jim Brading.”

      “Walker,” said John. “This is Susan. This is Titty. I’m John. . .”

      “And I’m Roger,” said Roger. “Does your engine really work?”

      “Jolly well,” said Jim Brading, “but I never use it if I can use sails instead.”

      “Oh,” said Roger. It had been all very well for John to say that sails were the only things that mattered, but this last term at school Roger had once more begun to think a good deal about engines. He had a friend who thought about nothing else.

      Titty had been making up her mind to ask a question.

      “Do you live in the Goblin all the time?” she said at last.

      “Wish I did,” said Jim. “I’m going up to Oxford in another month. But I’ll be living in her till then.”

      “Do you live at Pin Mill?” asked Roger.

      “Only in Goblin,” said Jim. “Pin Mill’s her home port. She’s always here when we’re not cruising. I’ve got my uncle coming on Monday and we’re going to have a try for Scotland. He always likes to start from Pin Mill. I’ve had her down in the South the last ten days, but the man who was with me had to go back to work.”

      “What’s the furthest you’ve ever been in her?” asked John.

      “Uncle Bob and I took her down to Falmouth and back one year.”

      “We used to sail there with Daddy when he was on leave,” said John. ‘“But only in an open boat. We never had one we could sleep in.”

      “Like to spend a night in the Goblin?” said Jim, smiling.

      “Rather,” said everybody at once.

      “I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said Jim. “No. Not there. Let’s get by. I know where the things go. Every plate has its place and each mug has its own hook.” He worked his way past the table while they pulled their legs out of the way.

      “We’d love to come, if only we could,” said Susan. “Oh, I say, John, just look at the clock. Miss Powell’ll have had supper ready ages ago, and we promised we wouldn’t be late.”

      Jim’s broad back was towards them as he stowed away the things in the cupboards under galley and sink. He slammed the doors to, latched them and turned round. “Well,” he said. “That’s that. Many thanks. Now for shore and break fast. But what do you think? If I told your mother I wanted crew for a couple of days? I could cram you all in, if I slept on the floor.”

      “Oh gosh!” said Roger.

      But at that moment they heard the splash of oars.

      “They’ll be aboard here, Ma’am.” It was Frank, the boatman, who had lent them their dinghy.

      “Oh, I say,” said Susan. “Mother’s had to come off to look for us.”

      Everybody jumped up.

      “John! Susan!” That was Mother calling outside.

      “Ahoy, Roger!” That was Bridget’s shrill yell.

      For a moment Mother and Bridget and Frank, the boatman, had been lying alongside what had seemed to be a deserted ship, except for the two dinghies astern. Now, one after another, Roger, Jim Brading, Susan, Titty and John came climbing up out of the cabin.

      “I do hope they haven’t been bothering you,” said Mother to the skipper of the Goblin. “You know,” she added for the others, “I didn’t mean you to go and make a nuisance of yourselves to strange boats.”

      “We haven’t,” said Roger. “He’s said ‘Thank you’ several times. He’s even asked us to come and be a crew.”

      “They’ve been no end of a help,” said Jim. “They’ve moored my ship, and done my washing up, and I’ve been very glad to have them.”

      “His name’s Jim Brading,” said Roger, “and he’s sailed her from Dover since yesterday.”

      “By himself,” said Titty.

      “Single-handed,” said John.

      “Then he must be very nearly dead,” said Mother, “and not wanting four of you getting in his way.”

      “Did you have a good passage, Sir?” asked Frank

      “Not enough wind,” said Jim. “And a good deal of fog by the Sunk.”

      “He hasn’t had anything but soup and biscuits since yesterday,” said Susan.

      “He’s going to have breakfast now, at the inn,” said Titty, “just when we’re going to have our supper.”

      Mother looked at Jim. She liked what she saw of him and knew very well what they wanted.

      “Our supper is waiting for us,” she said, smiling. “If he’d like to come, you’d better bring him with you. Miss Powell’s sure to have given us more than enough.”

      “Do come,” said Titty.

      “Please,” said Susan.

      “We’d all like you to,” said John.

      “I expect there’ll be soup,” said Roger.

      “That’s really very good of you,” said Jim.

      Frank pulled for the shore, so that Mrs Walker and Bridget might go on ahead and tell Miss Powell they had a guest. The others climbed down into their dinghy and followed, giving it up to Frank who waited for them on the hard. Jim, close after them, paddled ashore in the Imp. They watched him haul the Imp a long way up, because the tide had begun to come in again. Then they walked up the hard with their new friend in the midst of them, like four tugs bringing a liner into port.

CHAPTER II

      SLEEPY SKIPPER

       “ WELL, Master Jim,” said Miss Powell, who was standing in the doorway of the cottage as they climbed up the steps out of the lane. “You want a bit of sleep by the look of you.”

      “I didn’t have any last night,” said Jim Brading. “How are you, Miss Powell? Uncle Bob’s coming down next week.”

      “Do you know him?” asked Titty.

      Miss Powell laughed. “Know Jim Brading? I should think I do. I’ve known him since he was so high and his uncle used to wade ashore from his little boat with Jim Brading kicking under his arm. You’ll be taller than your uncle now, won’t you, Jim? Come along in now. Supper’s just ready and I dare say you’ll be ready for it.”

      “’Sh!”

      “Don’t wake him!”

      Mother came into a strangely silent room.

      Susan was standing by her chair, just ready to sit down. She had a finger to her lips. Titty and Roger were already seated at the round table on which a white cloth, plates, knives, forks and spoons had been laid for supper. John, holding Bridget by the hand, was standing with his back to the window. All five of them were looking at Jim Brading and keeping as quiet as they knew how. And Jim Brading, seated at the table between Titty and Roger, was fast asleep. They had chosen his place for him and sat down beside him. Jim had leaned on the table and, somehow, his head had dropped lower and lower, and now, from the doorway, Mother saw only a curly mop of hair, broad shoulders in a blue jersey, elbows wide among the plates. For Jim Brading the world had ceased to exist.

      “We