said
nothing to Dot, because, there was no need, for she was about the most
prim, neat little creature that ever lived. And, now she paced along by
her brother's side, carrying two sticks with iron hooks at their ends,
with which she walked in her precise measured way, as if they were
wands, while the Skipper carried the "Flash."

Now, the "Flash" was supposed to be a correct model of the big despatch
boat commanded by Captain Trevor, but, it was very far from perfect,
and no one knew this better than its owner. For Captain Trevor's
beautifully swift gun-boat had three funnels amidships, and powerful
engines, while the Skipper's model, though it had sails that sent it
swiftly through the water when there was a breeze, had a great deal of
make-believe about it, the funnels being only pieces of zinc pipe
tacked to the deck, the engines, the works of an old clock that would
not go, placed in a cigar-box; the boiler, which was just under the
funnels, a tin canister; and the furnace a small lamp that had once
belonged to a magic lanthorn, the whole having been fitted neatly into
the model by Tom Jeffs, coxswain of the captain's gig, a very big ugly
sailor, who took his orders seriously and worked under the Skipper's
directions. When the lamp was lighted, as the Skipper said, nobody
could tell, for when the water in the tin boiled, the steam came out of
the funnels, and when the wind blew, it was almost as good as having
real engines.

Tom Jeffs looked very serious over the work, and shook his head a great
deal when it was done.

"You see," he said, "the steam looks right as right, but you don't get
no help from these engines, because it's no use to them. The vessel has
to carry the weight, and the screw stops her way. I shall have to make
you a real engine someday;" but "some day" had not yet come, though the
Skipper did not forget to ask Tom about it every time he came back from
a voyage, Tom Jeffs being his name, though the Skipper always called
him "Jack Robinson," because he said he seemed so much like the sailor
in a song he used to sing.

It was not far through the fir-trees. You could see the water
glittering in the sunshine before you were half-way, but the Skipper
had to stop twice.

"There's a nest up that tree," he said. "Wood-pigeon's. I could climb
up there."

"See how dirty it would make your clothes," cried Dot.

"Well, they could be washed," said her brother, in his lordly way. But
he thought bette