“I don’t know,” said she, “but I suppose it must be, for otherwise I should not understand what the people on board should say to me.  It is a large ship, strong and able to defend itself against any pirates.  It is laden with all sorts of useful and valuable things, and among these are a great many trunks and boxes filled with different kinds of clothes.  Also, there’s a great deal of money kept in a box by itself, and is in charge of an agent who is bringing it out to my father, supposing him to be now settled in Barbadoes.  This money is generally a legacy for my father from a distant relative who has recently died.  On this ship there are so many delightful things that I cannot even begin to mention them.”

“And where is it going to?” asked Dickory.

“That I don’t know exactly.  Sometimes I think that it is going to the island of Barbadoes, where we originally intended to settle; but then I imagine that there is some pleasanter place than Barbadoes, and if that’s the case the ship is going there.”

“There can be no pleasanter place than Barbadoes,” cried Dickory.  “I come from that island, where I was born; there is no land more lovely in all the West Indies.”

“You come from Barbadoes?” cried the girl, “and it really is a pleasant island?”

“Most truly it is,” said he, “and the great dream of my life is to get back there.”  Then he stopped.  Was it really the dream of his life to get back there?  That would depend upon several things.

“If, then, you tell me the truth, my ship is bound for Barbadoes.  And if she should go, would you like to go there with us?”

Dickory hesitated.  “Not directly,” said he.  “I would first touch at Jamaica.”

For some moments there was no answer from the tree-top, and then came the question:  “Is it a girl who lives there?”

“Yes,” said Dickory unguardedly, “but also I have a mother in Jamaica.”

“Indeed,” said she, “a mother!  Well, we might stop there and take the mother with us to Barbadoes.  Would the girl want to go too?”

Dickory bent his head.  “Alas!” said he, “I do not know.”

Then spoke the little Lena.  “I would not bother about any particular place to go to,” said she.  “I’d be so glad to go anywhere that isn’t here.  But it is not a real ship, you know.”

“I don’t think I will take you,” called down Lucilla.  “I don’t want too many passengers, especially women I don’t know.  But I often think there will be a gentleman passenger—­one who really wants to go to Barbadoes and nowhere else.  Sometimes he is one kind of a gentleman and sometimes another, but he is never a soldier or a sailor, but rather one who loves to stay at home.  And now, sir, I think I must take my glass and try to pick out a ship from among the spots on the far distant waves.”

“Come on,” said Lena, “do you like to fish!  Because if you do, I can take you to a good place.”