The boat was by this time firmly aground, and he was forced to stand, forming large pools upon the stern-board, while the grinning Caleb pushed her off.

And still Mr.Fogo looked mildly on, with his hands in the wash-tub.
"Do you hear me, sir?
You shall repent this!" raved the Admiral.
"Now, don't 'ee go upsettin' yourself again, 'cos wance es enough.
An' 't'ain't no good to be vexed wi' Maaster, 'cos he don't mind 'ee.
'Tes like Smoothey's weddin'-- all o' one side.

Next time, I hopes you'll listen when you'm spoken to." And with a chuckle, Caleb sent the boat spinning into deep water.
Scarce daring to look at their father, the Misses Buzza plunged their oars into the brine, and the Admiral, still shaking his fist, was borne slowly out of sight.

At last even his language failed upon the breeze.
Caleb quietly returned to his work.
"Thicky Adm'ral," he observed, contemplatively, after a silence of a minute or so, "puts me in mind o' Humphrey Hambly's ducks, as is said to look larger than they be." He paused in the act of wringing a shirt, to look at Mr.Fogo.
The next instant the shirt was lying on the shingle, and Caleb had sprung upon his master, taken him by the shoulders, and was shaking him with might and main.
"Come, wake up! Do 'ee hear?
What be glazin' at ?" "Eh?
Dear me!" stammered Mr.Fogo, as well as he might for the shaking.

"What's all this ?" "Axin' your pardon, sir," explained Caleb, continuing the treatment, "but 'tes all for your good, like ringin' a pig.
You'm a-woolgatherin'; wake up!" Mr.Fogo came to himself, and sat down upon a log of timber to rearrange his thoughts and his spectacles.