Rod was delighted with the Flying Queen, and wading in the water to his knees, he sailed her along the shore.  The captain had a pickerel net to look after, which kept him busy for some time.  But he missed scarcely anything that Rod was doing, and he was greatly pleased at the boy’s delight.

“Pull her ashore now, lad,” he at length ordered, “and let’s go fer a sail.”

“What, in the Roaring Bess?” Rod eagerly asked, as he glanced toward the yacht fretting gently at her anchor a short distance away.

“Sure thing.  Dinner won’t be ready fer an hour, so we’ll take a spin around fer awhile.”

Rod could hardly believe his senses.  How often he had looked upon the Roaring Bess from the respectable distance of the main road.  To have a sail in her had been his one great ambition.  While lying in bed he had often imagined himself skimming over the water, with the sail, big and white, bending above him.  Now his dream had really come true, and here he was at last sitting by Captain Josh’s side, watching him as he headed the boat upstream.  A gentle breeze was drifting in from westward, sufficient to fill the sail and send the Roaring Bess speeding over the water.  A deep sigh escaped Rod’s lips.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” the captain cried.  “Gittin’ tired, and want to go home?”

“Oh, no, no,” was the emphatic reply.  “I sighed because I am so happy.”

“H’m.  That’s it, eh?  I thought people generally whistled or laughed when they are happy.”

“Is that what you do, Captain Josh, when you’re happy?”

“Me?  I’m never happy.”

“Why, I’d be happy all the time if I had a boat like this.”

“Ye would?  Well, take the tiller, then, while I fill me pipe.”

A new thrill of joy swept through Rod’s entire being as he clutched the wooden handle and moved it to left or right as the captain ordered.  Never did any commander in charge of the largest vessel feel greater pride than did the young helmsman.  His face glowed, and his eyes sparkled with excitement, while the breeze tossed his wavy hair.

Captain Josh watched him out of the corner of his eye as he puffed away at his short-stemmed pipe.

“Ye’ll make a good sailor some day, lad,” he remarked.  “Ye’ve got the eye fer sich business.”

“That’s what I’m going to be,” was the reply.  “I’ll be a captain, and have a big ship of my own.  I’m going to call her the Roaring Bess, and I’ll take you along with me.”

“I’d like to go well enough,” and the old man’s gaze wandered off into space, “but I guess my sailin’ days’ll be over by that time.  But here we are back home again.  Betsey’ll be waitin’ dinner fer us.”