"
"Well--if the skipper don't say no. Come along."
They went down to a boat, and "Maister Davey" rowed to a schooner in the
harbor, and took Eric on board.
"There," he said, "you may sleep there for to-night," and he pointed to
a great heap of sailcloth beside the mast.
Weary to death, Eric flung himself down, and slept deep and sound till
the morning, on board the "Stormy Petrel."
CHAPTER XII
THE STORMY PETREL
"They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind grew high,
And gurly grew the sea."
SIR PATRICK SPENS.
"Hilloa!" exclaimed the skipper with a sudden start, next morning, as he
saw Eric's recumbent figure on the ratlin-stuff, "Who be this
young varmint!"
"Oh, I brought him aboord last night," said Davey; "he wanted to be
cabun-buoy."
"Precious like un _he_ looks. Never mind, we've got him and we'll use
him."
The vessel was under way when Eric woke, and collected his scattered
thoughts to a remembrance of his new position.
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