perfect aloft, even to her pennant; and on deck she was perfect too,
with beautiful little model guns, all brass, on their carriages,
pointing through the port-holes.

"Oh!" we exclaimed. "Oh! Is she really for us, for our very own?"

"Why, yes," he said. "At least she's for you, Mr
What's-your-name. Jim, I think you call yourself. Yes, Jim. Well,
she's for you, Jim. I got something else the Queen sent for Mr
Preacher-feller." He bent in one corner of the ruin, and pulled out
what seemed to be a stout but broken box. "This is for you, Mr
Preacher-feller," he said to Hugh.

We saw that it was a model of a port of a ship's deck and side. The
side was cut for a gun-port, which opened and shut by means of
laniards; and, pointing through the opened port was a model brass
nine-pounder on its carriage, with all its roping correctly rigged,
and its sponges and rammers hooked up above it ready for use. It was a
beautiful piece of work (indeed, both models were), for the gun was
quite eighteen inches long. "There you are," said Marah Gorsuch. "That
lot's for you, Mr Preacher-feller. Them things is what the Queen
sent."

We were so much delighted by these beautiful presents that it was some
minutes before we could find words with which to thank him. We could
not believe that such things were really for us. He was much pleased
to find that his gifts gave so much pleasure; he kept up a continual
grin while we examined the toys inch by inch.

"Like 'em, hey?" he said.