“Let’s swim afterwards,” said Roger. “I’m empty.”
John rolled over to look at the chronometer, which lay with the little aneroid on the tin box at the back of the tent. As soon as he saw what time it was, he threw his blankets off and jumped up.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go for the milk right away.”
“Take a basket for the eggs,” called Susan.
The captain and the boy went to the harbour, pushed off the Swallow , and worked her out with the oars. There was still a good wind blowing, and they decided that it would be quicker to sail than to row.
“What will we do to her to show that she’s the flagship?” asked the boy.
“Why, nothing,” said the captain.
“What is a flagship?” asked the boy.
“It’s the chief ship of a fleet.”
“But why flag?”
“Because the Admiral of the Fleet, or the Commodore (that’s me), flies his flag on her.”
“But you haven’t got a flag, only the one Titty made.”
“Well, that’s a very good one,” said the captain. “It’s different from theirs. That’s all that matters.”
They landed, and hurried up the field with the milk-can.
“You’re more than a bit late for the milk this morning,” said Mrs. Dixon, who was scrubbing the slate floor in the dairy. “Morning,” she said,