Now, as I staggered and sweated down to the wharf under her ladyship's baggage, I felt quite lighthearted.
In due time I had all aboard, and called on her to come, which she did, protesting that the water would spoil her new Dublin gown, and that if I sailed home no quicker than I had come, she supposed it would be morning before she got her supper.
This put me on my mettle.

I even went ashore for a moment to borrow a tarpaulin to lay over her knees, knowing I should have to make a voyage all the way back to-morrow to restore it.

Then, when I had her tucked in, and set the ballast trim, I hoisted the sail, and sat beside her, with the tiller in one hand and the sheet in the other.
She soon robbed me of the former; for with the wind behind us it was plain sailing, and she could steer, she said, as well as I.
"Keep a look-out ahead, Barry," she said, "and see if I don't get you to Knockowen in half the time you took to come.

I'll give you a lesson in sailing this evening." Here she had me on a tender point.
"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit, I think not," said I.
"Are you a seaman, then ?" she asked.
"I'd give my soul to be one." "Your soul! It would be cheap at the price." "I don't know what that means," said I; "but if your ladyship will put the helm a wee taste more to port, we will catch the breeze better--so, so.

Keep her at that!" We slipped merrily through the water for a while; but it made me uneasy to see the clouds sweeping past us overhead, and feel the sting of a drop or two on my cheek.
I hitched the sheet a little closer, and came astern again to where she sat.
"You'll need to let me take her," said I; "there's a squall behind us." "What of that ?" said she.