The boat arrived at a little after three—­an open boat with a mast.  No deck; nowhere to be comfortable, as the boom swung almost level with the bulwarks.  There was a foot of water in her.

Her owner arrived while I was noting these things.

He looked at her with pride.  “She’s a good boat,” he said.  “She used to be a lifeboat, with tanks in her to keep her buoyant, but I took them out.”

“I was expecting one with a deck,” I said.

“Deck?  Who wants a deck?” he answered.  “She’s all right.  You must keep baling, that’s all.  She would, be all the better for some white-lead and paint.”

“Why not give them to her?” I asked.

He pointed to an island about a mile distant and a headland half a mile across the bay.  “Keep within those two spots,” he said, “and you’ll be all right.  It’s not safe to take her beyond.  There might be squalls.”

“Rather limited,” I suggested.

“There’s grand water in between,” he said.  “Deep too in places.  Nine fathoms.”

“Where’s the man to sail her?” I asked.

“The man?” he replied.  “Aren’t you going to sail her yourself?  Your letter said nothing about a man.”

“Good heavens!” I said, “you surely wouldn’t let a total stranger try to sail a boat here among all these unknown rocks and currents?”

From his manner it was plain that he would, cheerfully.

“Well, I’ve no man to spare,” he said at last.  “But there’s a boy in the village who could come.  He’s not right in his head quite, but he’ll be handy.”

“Does he know the channels?” I asked.

“No, I wouldn’t say he knew the channels,” he replied, “but he’ll be handy.”

“Have you any life-belts?” I asked.

“There were some,” he said, “but they’ve gone.”

“You’re not very encouraging,” I remarked.  “Surely you don’t want people drowned in your boats?  It wouldn’t do the village or the hotel any good.”

“No, I suppose not,” he assented thoughtfully; “but no one’s going to be drowned.  No one ever has been drowned in that boat since I’ve had her.”  He laughed a hearty laugh.  “So that’s all right,” he added, and was gone.

I now know what an invalid feels like who, after a few weeks in (so to speak) cotton-wool, is deposited on the doorstep in the sleet.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Grandpapa (to small Teuton struggling with home lessons).  “COME, FRITZ, IS YOUR TASK SO DIFFICULT?”

Fritz.  “IT IS INDEED. I HAVE TO LEARN THE NAMES OF ALL THE COUNTRIES THAT MISUNDERSTAND THE ALL-HIGHEST.”]

* * * * *

    “Consequently, if Austria wants to save her twin-broth Hungary
    from a crushing defeat she must take her armies from Lemberg in
    a round-about way through most inconvenient mountain passes.”

Judging by this account the Central Powers seem to be in the soup.