“Or three,” said Mate Susan. “Even with Swallow empty we shall never be able to get more than three of the haybags into her at once.”
Able-seaman Titty had an idea. “Couldn’t we get a native to bring them in a native rowing boat?” she said.
John looked back into the boathouse at the big rowing boat belonging to the farm. He knew, because it had been privately arranged, that mother was to pay them a visit before night to see that all was well. He knew, too, that it had been arranged that Mr. Jackson, the farmer, should row her. Mr. Jackson was as good a native as anyone could wish.
Mother and nurse, carrying Vicky, were coming down the field.
John went to meet them. It was agreed that the natives would bring the haybags in a rowing boat.
“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything?” mother asked, looking down from the jetty into the loaded Swallow . “It’s very seldom people go on a long voyage without forgetting something.”
“We’ve got everything that was on my list,” said Mate Susan.
“Everything?” said mother.
“Mother, what are you holding behind your back?” asked Titty, and mother held out a packet of a dozen boxes of matches.
“One might almost say, By Gum,” said John. “We could never have lit the fire without them.”
They said their farewells on the jetty.
“If you are ready, you’d better start,” said mother.
“Now, Mister Mate,” said Captain John.