"How often must I tell you to call a ship 'her;' and there you will go on saying--it--it!"
After this correction of his sister, Master Edward did not like the condescension of acknowledging her suggestion to be a good one; so he went silently to the house in search of the requisite ballast; but not being able to find anything suitable, he came back to his turfy hillock, littered round with chips of wood, and tried to insert some pebbles into his vessel; but they stuck fast, and he was obliged to ask again.
"Supposing it was a good thing to weight her, what could I put in?"
"It would be the very thing; but where can I get any?"
"There is some that was left of papa's. It is in the right-hand corner of the second drawer of the bureau, wrapped up in a newspaper."
"What a plague! I can't remember your 'seconds,' and 'right-hands,' and fiddle-faddles." He worked on at his pebbles. They would not do.
"I think if you were good-natured, Maggie, you might go for me."
"Oh, Ned! I've all this long seam to do. Mamma said I must finish it before tea; and that I might play a little if I had done it first," said Maggie, rather plaintively; for it was a real pain to her to refuse a request.
Maggie thought a little. The time would only be taken out of her playing, which, after all, did not signify; while Edward was really busy about his ship. She rose, and clambered up the steep grassy slope, slippery with the heat.
Before she had found the paper of shot, she heard her mother's voice calling, in a sort of hushed hurried loudness, as if anxious to be heard by one person yet not by another--"Edward, Edward, come home quickly. Here's Mr. Buxton coming along the Fell-Lane;--he's coming here, as sure as sixpence; come, Edward, come."
Maggie saw Edward put down his ship and come. At his mother's bidding it certainly was; but he strove to make this as little apparent as he could, by sauntering up the slope, with his hands in his pockets, in a very independent and _négligé_ style. Maggie had no time to watch longer; for now she was called too, and down stairs she ran.
"Here, Maggie," said her mother, in a nervous hurry;--"help Nancy to get a tray ready all in a minute. I do believe here's Mr. Buxton coming to call. Oh, Edward! go and brush your hair, and put on your Sunday jacket; here's Mr. Buxton just coming round. I'll only run up and change my cap; and you say you'll come up and tell me, Nancy; all proper, you know."