CHAPTER NINE.
A RIVAL COLLECTOR.
Nothing could have been better than the appearances of wind and weather next morning--that long-wished-for "to-morrow," which had at last come, in spite of the Captain's perpetual procrastination.
The bright sun was glowing in a clear blue sky overhead, that was unflecked by a single cloud, while a fresh breeze blowing from the westwards to prevent the air from becoming stagnant; and the barometer, at "set Fair," made all prophets of evil, if such there were about, keep their lips tightly closed and say nothing to damp the spirits of the expectant voyagers.
"Hullo, Nell!" shouted Bob, drumming on the balustrade of the staircase outside his bedroom to attract her attention and rouse her up.

"Are you awake yet ?" Nellie's answer to this question was a "staggerer" to Master Bob, as he termed it in his choice phraseology.
She appeared in the passage that passed her door fully dressed.
"I got up when Sarah rose, and have been ready to go downstairs for the last hour," she said calmly, with a conscious pride.

"You'd better look sharp with your dressing, Bob, for it is past six o'clock.

Unless you start off soon to the beach, too, for your bathe, you'll never be back in time for breakfast, which is going to be earlier this morning so that we may catch the steamer comfortably." "My good gracious!" exclaimed Bob, jamming his right foot into his left boot in his hurry and wasting a minute or more in wriggling it out again.

"I thought I was ever so early, and up before any one!" "Ah, me dear," cried out Mrs Gilmour from below; "you'll have to catch a weasel asleep, sure, before you can hope, sir, to get ahead of us in this house.