ii4 The Wild-Fowlers 



tiny porthole of the sloop his quick eyes 

 discerned the faint outlines of the boy, 

 already thoroughly awake and busy tying 

 on his clumsy shoes. 



No greeting passed between them ; no 

 word or signal marred their sharp move- 

 ments. A mere glance at each other, a 

 single meeting of the eyes, conveyed the 

 mutual acknowledgment of the new day. 



The man hoisted an oaken pail of salt 

 water aboard, plunged both his hands and 

 half his head into it, splashed and splut- 

 tered in it a full minute, rubbed his eyes 

 and great mass of hair with a violence 

 that would have jarred up a hundred 

 headaches in the cranium of a less hardy 

 person, wiped himself with equal ferocity 

 for fully five minutes on a coarse red-bor- 

 dered towel, tossed the latter article to 

 the boy, emptied and refilled the pail 

 with the dash of an athlete, and then 

 actually hornpiped himself astern and 

 bumped down upon the cabin corner like 

 a gleeful boy of ten, rapidly beating his 



