"Now, don't 'ee go upsettin' yourself again, 'cos wance es enough.
An' 't'ain't no good to be vexed wi' Maaster, 'cos he don't mind 'ee.
'Tes like Smoothey's weddin'--all o' one side. Next time, I hopes
you'll listen when you'm spoken to."

And with a chuckle, Caleb sent the boat spinning into deep water.
Scarce daring to look at their father, the Misses Buzza plunged their
oars into the brine, and the Admiral, still shaking his fist, was
borne slowly out of sight. At last even his language failed upon the
breeze.

Caleb quietly returned to his work.

"Thicky Adm'ral," he observed, contemplatively, after a silence of a
minute or so, "puts me in mind o' Humphrey Hambly's ducks, as is said
to look larger than they be."

He paused in the act of wringing a shirt, to look at Mr. Fogo.

The next instant the shirt was lying on the shingle, and Caleb had
sprung upon his master, taken him by the shoulders, and was shaking
him with might and main.

"Come, wake up! Do 'ee hear? What be glazin' at?"

"Eh? Dear me!" stammered Mr. Fogo, as well as he might for the
shaking. "What's all this?"

"Axin' your pardon, sir," explained Caleb, continuing the
treatment, "but 'tes all for your good, like ringin' a pig.