“You mus’ stay a whole week,” said Trot decidedly.  “An’ you mus’ take Cap’n Bill for an air-ride, too.”

“Oh, Trot!  I dunno as I’d like it,” protested Cap’n Bill nervously.

“Yes you would.  You’re sure to like it.”

“I guess I’m too heavy.”

“I’m sure the umbrella could carry twenty people if they could be fastened to the handle,” said Button-Bright.

“Solid land’s pretty good to hold on to,” decided Cap’n Bill.  “A rope might break, you know.”

“Oh, Cap’n Bill!  You’re scared stiff,” said Trot.

“I ain’t, mate.  It ain’t that at all.  But I don’t see that human critters has any call to fly in the air, anyhow.  The air were made for the birds, an’—­an’ muskeeters, an’—­”

“An’ flyin’-fishes,” added Trot.  “I know all that, Cap’n, but why wasn’t it made for humans, too, if they can manage to fly in it?  We breathe the air, an’ we can breathe it high up, just as well as down on the earth.”

“Seein’ as you like it so much, Trot, it would be cruel for me to go with Butt’n-Bright an’ leave you at home,” said the sailor.  “When I were younger—­which is ancient history—­an’ afore I had a wooden leg, I could climb a ship’s ropes with the best of ’em, an’ walk out on a boom or stand atop a mast.  So you know very well I ain’t skeered about the highupness.”

“Why can’t we all go together?” asked the boy.  “Make another seat, Cap’n, and swing it right under ours.  Then we can all three ride anywhere we want to go.”

“Yes, do!” exclaimed Trot.  “And see here, Cap’n, let’s take a day off and have a picnic.  Mother is a little cross today, and she wants to finish knitting your new stockin’, so I guess she’ll be glad to get rid of us.”

“Where’ll we go?” he asked, shifting on his wooden leg uneasily.

“Anywhere.  I don’t care.  There’ll be the air-ride there an’ the air-ride back, an’ that’s the main thing with me.  If you say we’ll go, Cap’n, I’ll run in an’ pack a basket of lunch.”

“How’ll we carry it?”

“Swing it to the bottom of your seat.”

The old sailor stood silent a moment.  He really longed to take the air-ride but was fearful of danger.  However, Trot had gone safely to town and back and had greatly enjoyed the experience.  “All right,” he said.  “I’ll risk it, mate, although I guess I’m an old fool for temptin’ fate by tryin’ to make a bird o’ myself.  Get the lunch, Trot, if your mother’ll let you have it, and I’ll rig up the seat.”

He went into the shed and Trot went to her mother.  Mrs. Griffith, busy with her work, knew nothing of what was going on in regard to the flight of the Magic Umbrella.  She never objected when Trot wanted to go away with Cap’n Bill for a day’s picnicking.  She knew the child was perfectly safe with the old sailor, who cared for Trot even better than her mother would have done.  If she had asked any questions today and had found out they intended to fly in the air, she might have seriously objected, but Mrs. Griffith had her mind on other things and merely told the girl to take what she wanted from the cupboard and not bother her.  So Trot, remembering that Button-Bright would be with them and had proved himself to be a hearty eater, loaded the basket with all the good things she could find.