We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea - Arthur Ransome Swallows And Amazons

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learn an awful lot,” said John.

      “I’m going to sleep on it,” said Mother. “And Mr Brading must sleep on it too. He may wake wiser in the morning and not want to clutter his boat up with a cargo of children.”

      “Mother!” said Susan who, so far, had not put in a word.

      But Mother was not to be moved. “We’ll sleep on it,” she said, “and think about it again in the morning. . . if he hasn’t sailed away in a hurry to be rid of you. And now, Bridget ought to be in bed, and so ought Mr Brading. . . Remember he was at sea all last night.”

      “We’ll see him off,” said Roger, as Jim Brading, who at the thought of sleep was once more feeling his eyes closing, got up and thanked Mrs Walker for his supper.

      It was growing dark outside, very dark, and they used their pocket torches to find the Imp, and to help Jim Brading to launch her off the hard.

      “Thank you very much for letting us come on board,” said John.

      “Thank you,” said Jim Brading.

      Not one of them, not even Roger, said a word about joining the Goblin. They felt, somehow, that it would not be fair. Mother had said that he was to sleep on it, and sleep on it he must.

      “Good night!” they called as he pushed off.

      “Good night!” he called back.

      The four of them stood on the hard in the darkness as he rowed away. It was a still, quiet night, and they heard his oars long after they could no longer see him. Then they heard a slight bump and the noise of oars came to an end.

      “He must be jolly sleepy or he wouldn’t have bumped,” said John.

      A moment later a light shone out through the portholes of the Goblin. He had lit the lamp in the cabin. They lingered, watching. The light went out.

      “I say,” said Roger. “Do you think he had time to undress?”

      “WE’VE ALL PROMISED”

      “WHERE’S Mother?”

      Mother’s bedroom door was open, but there was no one inside. John banged on the door of the room in which Susan, Titty and Bridget were finishing their dressing.

      “We’re just coming down,” shouted Bridget. “Susan’s nearly done my last plait.”

      “Mother’s gone out,” cried Roger, as John came down into the little parlour. “And her toast’s getting cold.”

      They went to the door that opened into the garden and saw Mother coming across from the boatsheds. They ran down the steps to meet her.

      “Hullo!” she said, and then, as she saw them look out beyond the hard to make sure that the Goblin was still lying there moored among the other yachts in the morning sunshine, she told them something that filled their hearts with hope. “I’ve been collecting testimonials for that young man.”

      “Good ones?” asked Roger.

      “Everybody here seems to think a lot of him. Miss Powell says he’s the best-heartedest young man she ever knew. Frank, the boatman, says, ‘What he don’t know about handling that boat of his won’t help anyone.’ The boatbuilder says he’d trust him anywhere, and that old man scraping spars says, ‘They don’t fare to come to no harm along of Jim Brading.’”

      “You’re going to let us go,” said John.

      “He may have thought better of it,” said Mother.

      “But if he still wants us. . . ”

      “It almost looks as if I shall have to,” said Mother. “But I wish I could ask Daddy. . . ”

      “Daddy’d say, ‘Go. . . ’”

      “I believe he would,” said Mother.

      “Mother’s going to let us go,” shouted Roger as they met the others at the door.

      “Wait till he asks you,” said Mother.

      They looked far away at the trim white Goblin lying to her mooring with the little black Imp lying astern of her. Yes, Jim Brading was aboard, or the dinghy wouldn’t be there. But there was no sign of anybody stirring.

      “He’s still asleep,” said Mother. “Let’s go in and have our breakfast.”

      They were eating bread and marmalade when something large darkened the window and they saw Jim Brading looking in.

       Bridget was off her chair first and ran to the door. “Come in, please,” she said.

      “Did you have a good sleep?” asked Roger as seriously as he knew how.

      “Splendid, thank you, and a good swim round the ship this morning. I’m all right now. Mrs Walker, I am most awfully sorry about the way I went to sleep on the table last night.”

      “Rubbish,” said Mother. “It was a charming sight and we all enjoyed it. Come in and sit down. Roger, get another cup out of the cupboard. There’s plenty of coffee in the pot. Well, now you’ve seen these animals in the morning light, you won’t want four of them in your little ship. I’ve told them you won’t, so you needn’t be afraid they’ll be disappointed.”

      Roger was on the point of protesting, but did not. He waited, cup in hand.

      “How soon can they come aboard?” said Jim.

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      Five hours later John, Susan and Jim Brading were resting in the cockpit of the Goblin after a hard morning’s work and a luncheon of bread and cheese and ginger beer. “No good starting with a fresh lot of things to wash up,” Jim had said, “just when you’ve scoured the sink and got everything spick and span.” So they had flung their crumbs to the gulls, washed their plates and swilled out their mugs over the side, wiped them and put the plates in the cupboard where they belonged and hung the mugs once more on the hooks over the sink. Mrs Walker and the others had gone to Ipswich to get stores. . . “The fo’c’sle feeds itself, of course,” Mrs Walker had said. . . and Jim, Susan and John were sitting in the cockpit and keeping an eye on the shore where the tide, as it was not long after high water, was lapping against the walls of the Butt and Oyster.

      Jim was smoking a pipe with a good deal of care, not letting go of it with his fingers for more than a minute at a time. The others were watching him with respect.

      “I only began it these holidays,” Jim confessed. “My uncle made me promise not to till after I left school.”

      “Do you like it?” asked Susan.

      “It’s very nice after work,” said Jim.

      “It must use an awful lot of matches,” said Susan, as yet another was thrown overboard to join the long trail of dead matches that was floating with the tide.

      “Tobacco’s a bit damp,” said Jim. “Bother it. It’s gone out again.”

      “I found a tin of brass polish when I was tidying the place where the lamps are,” said Susan. “Do you think it would be all right if I had a go at that porthole.” She was looking at the porthole through which the steersman could see the compass, which was hung inside the cabin, over the sink.

      Jim puffed out some smoke and looked at the porthole as if he was seeing it for the first time.

      “It has gone a bit green,” he said. “You simply can’t keep them bright. I don’t think I’ve touched it this year. But, you know, Uncle Bob and I will never be able to live up to all this tidiness after you’ve gone.”

      John

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