as
though in fear of observation, and there whispered the circumstances of
the departure of the _Trap and Seine_.

"But do you tell your father," he went on, "that Jagger's not sick."

"Not sick?" cried Timmie, under his breath.

"Tell your father that I heared Jagger say he'd prove the doctor a
coward or drown him."

Timmie laughed.

"Tell un," Jonas whispered, speaking in haste and great excitement,
"that Jagger's as hearty drunk as ever he was--loaded t' the gunwale
with rum an' hate--in dread o' the trade o' broom-makin'--desperate t'
get clear o' the business o' the _Jessie Dodd_. Tell un he wants t'
drown the doctor atween your harbour an' Wayfarer's Tickle. Tell un t'
give no heed t' the message. Tell un t'----"

"Oh, Lard!" Timmie gurgled, in a spasm of delight.

"Tell un t' have the doctor stay at home 'til the weather lifts. Tell
un----"

In response to an urgent call from the skipper, who was waiting at the
small-boat, Timmie ran out. As he stumbled down the path, emitting
guffaws and delicious chuckles, he conceived--most unhappily for us
all--an infinitely humorous plan, which would still give him the delight
of a rough passage to our harbour: for Timmie loved a wet deck and a
reeling beat to windward, under a low, driving sky, with the night
coming down, as few lads do. Inform the skipper? Not Timmie! Nor would
he tell even Jacky. He would disclose the plot at a more dramatic
moment. When the beat was over--when the schooner had made harbour--when
the anchor was down--when the message was delivered--in the thick of the
outcry of protest against the doctor's high determination to venture
upon the errand of mercy--_then_ Timmie Lovejoy, the dramatic
opportunity having come, would, with proper regard for his own
importance, make the astounding revelation. It would be quite thrilling
(he thought); moreover, it would be a masterly joke on his father, who
took vast delight in such things.

"The wind's veerin' t' the s'uth'ard," said the skipper, anxiously,
while they put a double reef in the mainsail. "'Twill be a rough time
across."

"Hut! dad," Timmie answered. "Sure, _you_ can make harbour."

"Ecod!" Jacky added, with a grin. "You're the man t' do it,
dad--_you're_ the man t' drive her!"

"Well, lads," the flattered skipper admitted, resting from the wrestle
with the obstinate sail, and giving his nose a pleased sort of tweak, "I
isn't sayin' I'm not."

So, low as she was--sunk with the loa