“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 were talking to him,” whispered Titty, “and he just flopped.”
“He’s tired out,” whispered Susan.
Roger gently pulled a plate away from under one blue elbow that, if it had moved a little further, might have pushed it over the edge of the table.
“It must be after his bed-time,” said Bridget.
“’Sh!” said Susan.
John watched, wondering. So that was what you felt like after an all-night passage single-handed in a ship of your own. How soon would he have a ship himself, and sail all day and all night and bring her into port, moor her and tidy her and then, with nothing left to worry about, hold up no longer and let the tiredness he had fought for hours close happily over his head?
Mother moved from the doorway to let Miss Powell come in with the supper.
Miss Powell laughed quietly, and put the tray down without waking Jim. “He’ll be all right when he’s had a bit of food,” she said. “Many a time I’ve seen him and his uncle asleep the both of them when they’ve come in from sea. I might have known he was coming, with the supper I’ve got for you . . . pea soup and a mushroom omelette. . . It was what they always asked for if they’d found time to let me know they were coming. They would send me a telegram, ‘PEA SOUP AND OMELETTE PLEASE,’ and I would know they were on their way.”
John, Bridget and Susan slipped silently into their places as Mother sat down and began to ladle out the soup into blue willow pattern soup plates.
“Shall I wake him?” said Roger. “I bet he’s hungry.”
“The soup’s very hot,” said Susan. “No need to wake him for a minute or two.”
But Jim Brading stirred suddenly, and flung out one hand, knocking over a glass which Titty caught just as it was rolling off the table.
’SH! ’SH!
“North half West for the Long Sand Head,” muttered Jim, as if he were repeating to himself something he had learnt by heart. That flung-out hand was feeling for the tiller. He lifted his head with a jerk and stared about him. “Oh, I say . . . I’m dreadfully sorry. . . Look here, I’m not fit to. . . How long have I been asleep?”
“Only a minute or two,” said Titty.
John and Susan looked at Mother, almost as if to say, “He really couldn’t help it.” After all, he was their guest really.
But you could always count on Mother to understand. She was laughing.
“That’s all right,” she was saying. “I know just how you feel. Why,
