CHAPTER ELEVEN.
SIGNING ARTICLES.
"She's loading at Cardiff--cargo o' steam coals, I b'lieve, for some o' them Pee-ruvian men-o'-war out there," explained Sam, presently, when the first excitement occasioned by his announcement of the news had somewhat calmed down.

"It's lucky, laddie, as how the schooner's all ready for sailing, as I thought o' fetching down to Saint Mary's morrer mornin', arter some new taties; but the taties must wait now, and I fancy as how this arternoon tide'll sarve jest as well for us--the wind's right fair for the Lizard, too!" "What, Sam--you don't mean that, really ?" exclaimed Jane Pengelly, not expecting such a hurried sending of me off to sea.

"Surely not so soon, my man, eh ?" She was almost breathless with grief and surprise.
"Aye, but I do mean it," persisted he.

"The shep's a loadin' now, I tell you, and she oughter start on her v'yage in a fortnight's time at th' outside; and if you reckon as how we'll take a week to reach Cardiff, we'll ha' no time to lose, for, if the wind changes arter we rounds the Longships, we'll ha' all our work cut out to beat up the Bristol Channel, in time to see the lad comf'ably off!" "My, Sam! couldn't you take the train across country to Cardiff, when you'd all ha' more time for getting ready, and I could see to mending all the poor dearie's things before he goes for--it'll be the last sight I'll ever see of his blessed face ?" Jane Pengelly said this timidly, wiping her eyes carefully, with each corner of her apron in turn; for, she well knew her brother's horror of the railway, and all conveyances--indeed, he disliked any mode of land travelling, save on foot, or "on Shank's mare," as he called it, which was the plan he invariably adopted for reaching such places which he could not get to by water.
"Why, Jane, my woman," Sam indignantly rejoined; "your brains must all be a wool-gathering! Catch me and the lad agoing by that longshore schreechin', smokin', ramshacklin' fire engine, when we can ha' a boat's sound plank under our foot, and sail over the sea in a nat'ral sort o' way, such as we're born to! You're the last person to think as how Sam Pengelly 'd desart his colours and bringing-up, for to go over to such an outlandish way o' fetching the port for which he's bound! No, Jane-- I ain't angry, but I feels hurt a bit on the h'insinivation--but there, let it be.

We'll go round to Cardiff in the schooner, as is as smart a little craft for a passage boat as ere a one could wish to clap eyes on, though I says it as shouldn't, and we'll start, laddie, this arternoon, as soon as the tide sets down Channel; so, you'd better see after your traps, and stow your chest when dinner's over--and then, we'll get under weigh, and clear outwards!" Little dinner, however, was eaten that day at the cottage, notwithstanding the fact that Jane Pengelly, as a reward for my industry in making up and remoulding her asparagus bed, had concocted a favourite Cornish dish for our repast, y'clept a "Mevagissey pie"-- a savoury compound consisting of alternate slices of mutton and layers of apples and onions cut into pieces, and symmetrically arranged, the whole being subsequently covered with a crust, pie-fashion, and then baked in the oven until well browned; when, although the admixture seems somewhat queer to those unused to a Cornish cuisine, the result is not by any means to be despised; rather is it uncommonly jolly! Generally, this dish would have been considered a _tour de force_ on the table, and not much left of it after our united knife and fork play when operations had once begun; but now, albeit Sam Pengelly made a feeble pretence of having a tremendous appetite, failing most ridiculously in the attempt, while his sister heaped up my plate, we were all too much perturbed in our minds to do justice to the banquet.