"That's the wust on it; we gets to be sorry for things when it's too late; and I'm wery much afeard, Master Bob, as this here gun'll make the 'Flash' a bit crank." "What's crank ?" asked the boy.
"What you shore-going folks calls top-heavy; and that either means cutting down her rigging----" "No, I won't have the rigging touched," cried Bob.
"Well, it would be a mortal shame, seeing how she sails, but you wouldn't like her to capsize." "No; of course not." "Then, I tell you what: you must put some little bags o' shot in her hold, to act as ballast, and then she'll be all right." Then, apparently satisfied with the boy's promise of amendment, "Jack Robinson," otherwise Tom Jeffs, worked away at the model, till the gun was fixed amidships, and the anchor swung to her bows, the cable having been knotted on, and the neatly coiled rings placed inside a little hatch in front.
All this being finished, as a man-of-war's man does such things, the Skipper sprang down from the table.

"Now, 'Jack,' come along!" he cried; "let's see how she'll sail." But, just then tea-time was announced, and in spite of a loud "_Oh!_" full of disappointment, the big sailor had to go into the kitchen and have his tea, the children's evening meal being ready too; and directly after, they were summoned to say good-bye to the coxswain, who had to go back.

The Captain and Mrs.
Trevor were in the hall when the former nodded shortly to his man, and went into the drawing-room, while the Skipper saw his mother slip something, that looked like a yellow sixpence, into the man's big hand.
"Good-bye, and thank you, Jeffs," she said hurriedly, and her voice sounded broken.

"I pray that you may have a good voyage." "Then we shall, ma'am, and bless and thank you, but there ain't no need for this." "For all you have done for my children," said Bob's mother.
"For that, ma'am! Why, it's been holidays and holidays to come up here, and bless 'em too .-- May I, ma'am ?" "Yes, please do," cried Mrs.Trevor, in a choking voice, and the man caught up Dot.
"Good-bye, my little dymond," he cried huskily.
"Good-bye, 'Jack.' Come and see us again soon," cried Dot, responding to his kiss, and tickling her little pinky nose with "Jack's" whiskers, for it was like kissing some loose cocoa-nut fibre.
"Good-bye, Master Robert," the man continued; and the Skipper shook hands with him, like a man.
"Good-bye, 'Jack': when are you coming again ?" The sailor looked at him with a peculiar expression of countenance, and was silent for a few moments.
"Next time," he said huskily, and, making a rough bow, he caught up a small portmanteau standing ready, and hurried out of the house, while the Skipper's mother bit her lower lip, hard, as she turned away, to hide her swimming eyes.
"What's Mamma crying for ?" asked Dot.
"She wasn't crying," said the Skipper gloomily, but, he felt she was ready to do so, and he turned to go into the drawing-room, after opening the door a little way, feeling all the while that his mother's looks were all on account of his behaviour.
Just then the boy stood perfectly still, for there was a burst of pitiable sobs, and he heard his mother say, in answer to some whispered words of the Captain's--"I do try, dear, but it seems so hard, so very hard.".