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"You're welcome to keep all she gives you fer yourself," said Billy. "Sure he came back. He's a wise crow, that Croaker, an', Oh gosh! don't he hate Ma, though! He gets up in a tree out o' reach of her broom, an' jest don't he call her names in crow talk? Ma says she'll kill him if ever she gets close enough to him an' she will, too." "Well, Mr Greyquill, twenty-five guineas when I'm paid off on my return home. I can say no more, and can promise no more.".

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Tim nudged him. "What you think of her?" he asked proudly. "If the French Flotilla is not in sight," said Captain Acton, "what can be the intention of Mr Tupman rising at this very early hour and getting his brig under weigh? For certainly the Saucy is making a start for something or somewhere. Do you see her sheeting home her canvas, Lucy?" It might be thought that the first person[Pg 420] in the group this gentleman's eyes fastened upon was Lucy. She would be held to appeal in her sweetness, colour, freshness, and youth to a sailor as a nosegay of lovely flowers to a lover of flowers who for months has lived forlorn in a desert of sand. But instead of looking at Lucy, the lieutenant stared at the Admiral with a very great deal of visible speculation in the screwed-up cock of his eye, till his face relaxed with these words: "Pray, sir, did you ever hear of Billy Lawrence?" "Ringdo," cried Erie, slapping the coon's fat sides, "you can't possibly see your friend, Frank, now so come along. We'll have a race down the path and a scramble among the leaves.".