It was very entertaining, and Fred was always calling to me to look at something new, but my mind was with the shipping.  There was a good deal of anxiety on it too.  The sooner we chose our ship and “stowed away” the better.  I hesitated between sailing-vessels and steamers.  I did not believe that one of the captain’s adventures happened on board any ship that could move faster than it could sail.  And yet I was much attracted by some grand-looking steamships.  Even their huge funnels had a look of power, I thought, among the masts, like old and hollow oaks in a wood of young and slender trees.

One of these was close in dock, and we could see her well.  There were some casks on deck, and by them lay a piece of tarpaulin which caught my eye, and recalled what the bad boy had said about captains and stowaways.  Near the gangway were standing two men who did not seem to be sailors.  They were respectably dressed, one had a book and a pencil, and they looked, I thought, as if they might have authority to ask our business in the docks, so I drew Fred back under shelter of some piled-up boxes.

“When does she sail?” asked the man with the book.

“To-morrow morning, sir,” replied the other.

And then they crossed the gangway and went into a warehouse opposite.

It was noon, and being the men’s dinner-time, the docks were not very busy.  At this moment there was not a soul in sight.  I grasped Fred’s arm, and hoisted the bundle and pie-dish well under my own.

“That’s our ship,” I said triumphantly; “come along!”

We crossed the gangway unperceived.  “The casks!” I whispered, and we made our way to the corner I had noticed.  If Fred’s heart beat as chokingly as mine did, we were far too much excited to speak, as we settled ourselves into a corner, not quite as cosy as our hiding-place in the forehold of the barge; and drew the tarpaulin over our heads, resting some of the weight of it on the casks behind, that we might not be smothered.

I have waited for the kitchen kettle to boil when Fred and I wanted to make “hot grog” with raspberry-vinegar and nutmeg at his father’s house; I have waited for a bonfire to burn up, when we wanted to roast potatoes; I have waited for it to leave off raining when my mother would not let us go out for fear of catching colds; but I never knew time pass so slowly as when Fred and I were stowaways on board the steam-ship Atalanta.

He was just beginning to complain, when we heard men coming on board.  This amused us for a bit, but we were stowed so that we could not see them, and we dared not look out.  Neither dared we speak, except when we heard them go a good way off, and then we whispered.  So second after second, and minute after minute, and hour after hour went by, and Fred became very restless.

“She’s to sail in the morning,” I whispered.

“But where are we to get dinner and tea and supper?” asked Fred indignantly.  I was tired, and felt cross on my own account.