He floundered about in his shirt, which he had put on wrong side
foremost in his hurry.

"Fish out those eggs, and see if there are any rolls left,--I'll
match you for yours, Squire. You won't be hungry, you haven't been
in swimming."

"Ketch me goin' into that water!" returned Gregory, "I'll make my
abbalootions right here."

And he proceeded to wash his face and hands over the stern of the
boat. We were all very much awake now, very hungry, and no longer
tired. The swim had opened our eyes. The drowsy moonlight world
had gone and given place to one of sunshine. A breeze rattled the
halliards against the mast, and ruffled the blue water of the bay
in little patches. We hurried into our clothes, while the Chief
warned us to keep out of the cockpit, and not get everything wet.
Sprague struggled with his shirt, and declaimed his favorite poem
in a muffled tone.

"'And the flyin' fishes play,'--And speaking of flying-fishes,
where is Simon? Has he had his morning swim? ... Oh, there he is,
--paddling about like a good one! Swims like a duck, doesn't he,
Squire?"

"There's nothing for breakfast except bacon and eggs," said the
Chief.

"And coffee and rolls," added Pete, "what more do you want, you