“I don’t see any fun in going to sea, then,” he said, dolefully, “if there ain’t any pirates and shipwrecks and things like that—­”

“It isn’t those things that make you love the sea, Tommy,” cried Judy.  “It is the smell of it, and the wind, and the wide blue water and the wide blue sky.  It is something in your blood.  I don’t believe you really love it at all, Tommy Tolliver.”

She got up from the couch and began to gather up her wet hair, and only Launcelot saw that she did it to hide her tears.

But Tommy was blind to her emotion.  “Yes, I do,” he asserted, stoutly.  “I do love it, and I bet I could find a treasure island if I tried.”

Judy stamped her foot impatiently.  “Oh, you couldn’t,” she blazed, “you couldn’t, Tommy Tolliver; you could just go to work like a common seaman and get your tobacco and your grog, and be frozen and stiff in the winter storms and hot and weary in the summer ones.  But if you really loved the sea you wouldn’t care—­you wouldn’t care, just so you could be rocked to sleep by it at night, and wake to hear it ripple against the sides of the boat—­”

“Gee—­” said Tommy, open-mouthed at this outburst.

“Tommy,” said Launcelot, with a glance at Judy’s excited face and at the trembling hands that could scarcely fasten her hair, “you don’t know a sailboat from a scow.”

“I do,” cried the indignant Tommy, switching his attention from Judy to Launcelot, with whom he was deep in the argument when the carriage came.

The Judge read Tommy a little lecture as he welcomed him back, and then he ordered Perkins to give the runaway something to eat, and thereby tempered justice with mercy.  And as Tommy had expected the scolding and had not expected the good things, it is to be feared that the latter made the greater impression.

“And how is my girl?” asked the Judge, beaming on Judy.

“All right,” said Judy, and tucked her hand into his, “only I am a little tired, grandfather.”

“Of course you are.  Of course you are,” said the Judge.  “We must go right home.  Perkins and I will sit on the front seat, and you can all crowd in behind—­I guess there will be room enough.”

“Oh, I say,” said Launcelot, as Tommy and Anne sat down on the floor at the back, with their feet on the step, “that won’t do.  You sit with Judy, Anne.”

But Anne shook her head.

“Tommy and I are going to sit here,” she said.  “He wants me to tell him all the news.”

But that was not all that Tommy wanted, for when they were alone and unseen by those in the front of the wagon, he opened a handkerchief which he had carried knotted into a bundle.

“I brought you some things.  They ain’t much, but I thought you would like to have them.”

There were a half-dozen pink and white shells, a starfish, and a few pretty pebbles.

“I picked them up on the beach,” said Tommy, “and I thought you might like them.”