"Taking Jemmy Carnach a bottle of physic," said the old fellow, with a low, curious laugh, which sounded as if an accident had happened to the works of a wooden clock. "He's mighty fond o' making himself doctor's bills. I'd ha' cured him if he'd come to me."

"What would you have given him, Daygo?"

"Give him?" said the man, rubbing his great brown eagle-beak nose with a finger that would have grated nutmeg easily: "I'd ha' give him a mug o'

water out of a tar tub, and a lotion o' rope's end, and made him dance for half an hour. He'd ha' been 'quite well thank ye' to-morrow morning."

Vince laughed.

"Ay, that's what's the matter with him, young gentleman. A man who can't ketch lobsters and sell 'em like a Christian, but must take 'em home, and byle 'em, and then sit and eat till you can see his eyes standing out of his head like the fish he wolfs, desarves to be ill.

Well, I must be off and see what luck I've had."

"Come on, Mike," cried Vince, springing up--an order which his companion obeyed with alacrity.

The old fellow frowned and stared.

"And where may you be going?" he asked.

"Along with you," said Vince promptly.

"Where?"

"You said you were going out to look at your lobster-pots and nets, didn't you?"

"Nay, ne'er a word like it," growled the man.

"Yes, you did," cried Mike. "You said you were going to see what luck you'd had."

"Ay, so I did; but that might mean masheroons or taters growing, or rabbit in a trap aside the cliff."

"Yes," said Vince, laughing merrily; "or a bit of timber, or a sea chest, or a tub washed up among the rocks, mightn't it, Mike? Only fancy old Joe Daygo going mushrooming!"

"You're a nice sarcy one as ever I see," said the man, with another of his wooden-wheel laughs. "I like masheroons as well as any man."

"Yes, but you don't go hunting for them," said Vince; "and you never grow potatoes; and as for setting a trap for a rabbit--not you."

"You're fine and cunning, youngster," said the man, with a grim look; and his keen, clear eyes gazed searchingly at the lad from under his s.h.a.ggy brows.

"Sit on the cliff with your old gla.s.s," said Vince, "when you're not fishing or selling your lobsters and crabs. He don't eat them himself, does he, Mike?"

"No. My father says he makes more of his fish than any one, or he wouldn't be the richest man on the island."

The old man scowled darkly.

"Oh! Sir Francis said that, did he?"

"Yes, I heard him," cried Vince; "and my father said you couldn't help being well off, for your place was your own, and it didn't cost you anything to live, so you couldn't help saving."

A great hand came down clap on the lad's shoulder, and it seemed for the moment as if he were wearing an epaulette made out of a crab, while the gripping effect was similar, for the boy winced.

"I say, gently, please: my shoulder isn't made of wood."

"No, I won't hurt you, boy," growled the old fellow; "but your father's a man as talks sense, and I won't forget it. I'll be took bad some day, and give him a job, just to be neighbourly."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Vince.

"What's the matter?" growled the old man, frowning.

"You talking of having father if you were ill. Why, you'd be obliged to."

"Nay. If I were bad I dessay I should get better if I curled up and went to sleep."

"Send for me, Joe Daygo," cried Mike merrily, "and I'll bring Vince Burnet. We'll give you a mug of water out of a tar-barrel, and make you dance with the rope's end."

"Nay, nay, nay! don't you try to be funny, young Ladle."

"_Ladelle_!" shouted the boy angrily.

"Oh, very well, boy. Only don't you try to be funny: young doctor here's best at that."

All the same, though, the great heavy fellow broke into another fit of wooden chuckling, nodded to both, and turned to go, but back on the track by which he had come.

Vince gave Mike a merry look, and they sprang after him, and the man faced round.

"What now?"

"We're coming out with you, Joe Daygo."

"Nay; I don't want no boys along o' me."

"Oh yes, you do," said Vince. "I say--do take us, and we'll row all the time."

"I don't want no one to row me. I've got my sail."

"All right, then; we'll manage the sail, and you can steer."

"Nay; I don't want to be capsized."

"Who's going to capsize you? I say, do take us."

The man scowled at them both, and filed his sharp, aquiline nose with a rough finger as if hesitating; then, swinging himself round, he strode off in his great boots, which crushed down heather and furze like a pair of mine stamps. But he uttered the words which sent a thrill through the boys' hearts--and those words were:

"Come on!"

CHAPTER THREE.

A DAY AT SEA.