CHAPTER FORTY.
"HUZZA! WE'RE HOMEWARD BOUND." By the time they had done the old man began to revive, but the boat was skimming along over the waves toward Cormorant Crag before he was able to speak coherently.
"Where are you going ?" he groaned at last.
"What's that to you?
Home!" said Vince sharply.
"Nay, nay; don't take me there, Master Vince--don't! I give in.

You two have 'most killed me, but I forgive you; only don't take me there." "You hold your tongue, you old ruffian," cried Vince, who was steering and holding the sheet too, while Mike kept guard with the conger bat.
"Mind, Mike.

Don't take your eyes off him for a moment, and if he tries to untie a knot, hit him again." "Nay, I'm beat," said the old man, with a groan.

"My head! my head!" "Serve you right," cried Mike.

"I believe you meant mischief to us." "Oh!" groaned Daygo; and he turned up his eyes till only the whites, or rather the yellows, could be seen, and then lay perfectly still; while the boat bounded onward now towards the island, as if eager to bear the boys to their home.
Vince looked hard at the big, heavy figure in the bottom of the boat, as he attended to the sailing and steering; and now that the heat of battle was over, and he sat there in his saturated clothes, he began to wonder at their success in winning the day.