Oh, yes.  I have never been ill yet, though it has been quite rough again and again.

What you call rough, little man.  But as you are grown such a very good sailor, and also as the sea is all but smooth, I think we will have a sail in the yacht to-day, and that a tolerably long one.

Oh, how delightful! but I thought we were going home; and the things are all packed up.

And why should we not go homewards in the yacht, things and all?

What, all the way to England?

No, not so far as that; but these kind people, when they came into the harbour last night, offered to take us up the coast to a town, where we will sleep, and start comfortably home to-morrow morning.  So now you will have a chance of seeing something of the great sea outside, and of seeing, perhaps, the whale himself.

I hope we shall see the whale.  The men say he has been outside the harbour every day this week after the fish.

Very good.  Now do you keep quiet, and out of the way, while we are getting ready to go on board; and take a last look at this pretty place, and all its dear kind people.

And the dear kind dogs too, and the cat and the kittens.

* * * * *

Now, come along, and bundle into the boat, if you have done bidding every one good-bye; and take care you don’t slip down in the ice-groovings, as you did the other day.  There, we are off at last.

Oh, look at them all on the rock watching us and waving their handkerchiefs; and Harper and Paddy too, and little Jimsy and Isy, with their fat bare feet, and their arms round the dogs’ necks.  I am so sorry to leave them all.

Not sorry to go home?

No, but—­They have been so kind; and the dogs were so kind.  I am sure they knew we were going, and were sorry too.

Perhaps they were.  They knew we were going away, at all events.  They know what bringing out boxes and luggage means well enough.

Sam knew, I am sure; but he did not care for us.  He was only uneasy because he thought Harper was going, and he should lose his shooting; and as soon as he saw Harper was not getting into the boat, he sat down and scratched himself, quite happy.  But do dogs think?

Of course they do, only they do not think in words, as we do.

But how can they think without words?

That is very difficult for you and me to imagine, because we always think in words.  They must think in pictures, I suppose, by remembering things which have happened to them.  You and I do that in our dreams.  I suspect that savages, who have very few words to express their thoughts with, think in pictures, like their own dogs.  But that is a long story.  We must see about getting on board now, and under way.

* * * * *

Well, and what have you been doing?

Oh, I looked all over the yacht, at the ropes and curious things; and then I looked at the mountains, till I was tired; and then I heard you and some gentleman talking about the land sinking, and I listened.  There was no harm in that?