When I rowed out to the Lydia in my little boat, the mist had
melted away in the warmth of the sun. The gray town, with its blue
film of peat smoke slowly rising into the clear air, was reflected
upon the smooth water that lapped and lisped against the stone
piers. The bubbling track of my boat as she plunged and curtsied in
obedience to the oar strokes alone disturbed the calm surface of
the bay; but beyond the shelter of the harbour a brisk breeze
fluttered the Blue Peter at the barque's foremast, and I did not
fail to notice that it came from a favourable quarter.
Father was already aboard when my boat scraped gently along the
ship's side, and he threw a rope end down to me to climb up by.
Captain Gordon shook hands with me when I reached the quarterdeck.
"Well, my lad," said he, "how d'ye think the Lydia looks for sea?"
"She looks well and trim," I said, untying the mouth of the meal
bag; "but I notice she has a slight list to the port side."
"A list to port!" said he looking forward. "Ha! that's unlucky. I
wish it had been to starboard; but as it's not much, the men may
not notice it. I fancy they'll see more of ill luck in this cat."
When I opened the bag, Baudrons escaped with a good dusting of
flour on his fur. The cat looked wildly uneasy; he showed no signs
of that gentle docility which Grace Drever admired in him; but with
his cheeks puffed out and the loose skin about his nose and head
drawn up in uncanny wrinkles, he dashed across the deck once or
twice, lashing his tail from side to side like a savage brute, and
then, approaching the main hatchway, he made a great spring down
the hold, there to enjoy himself amongst the mice.
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