"Quiet! He's l'arnin', an' has not the names good yet. Go on,
Harve."

"Oh, it's the reef-pennant. I'd hook the tackle on to the reef-
pennant, and then let down -"

"Lower the sail, child! Lower!" said Tom Platt, in a professional
agony.

"Lower the throat-and peak-halyards," Harvey went on. Those names
stuck in his head.

"Lay your hand on thim," said Long Jack.

Harvey obeyed. "Lower till that rope-loop - on the after-leach -
kris - no, it's cringle - till the cringle was down on the boom.
Then I'd tie her up the way you said, and then I'd hoist up the
peak-and throat-halyards again."

"You've forgot to pass the tack-earing, but wid time and help
ye'll l'arn. There's good and just reason for ivry rope aboard, or
else 'twould be overboard. D'ye follow me? 'Tis dollars an' cents
I'm puttin' into your pocket, ye skinny little supercargo, so that
fwhin ye've filled out ye can ship from Boston to Cuba an' tell
thim Long Jack l'arned you. Now I'll chase ye around a piece,
callin' the ropes, an' you'll lay your hand on thim as I call."

He began, and Harvey, who was feeling rather tired, walked slowly
to the rope named. A rope's end licked round his ribs, and nearly
knocked the breath out of him.