On such occasions Lotty would only have to say very quietly before she hauled off the sheet, 'Trim boat, Wallace,' and some instinct taught him he must keep well up towards the weaker side. But, athlete though he was, Antony was no sailor; nevertheless he wished to be, and was glad enough to be taught even by so young a little skipper as Lotty. On fine days she took him out with her on purpose, and with a very few lessons he could manage, or thought he could, fairly well. Well, one forenoon he rashly determined to have a little cruise all by himself. He forgot that with Lotty in the bows the yacht was not so much down by the stern as his weight, when alone, placed it. Indeed, while sailing, if she entrusted the tiller and sheet to him, she herself--the little skipper--crept right for'ard into the bows and issued her orders from that position--orders which he took very seriously indeed, for if he had not done so the _Jenny Wren_ might have broached-to or gone slick on her beam-ends. It was some considerable time before Antony got up to obeying all orders, or even understanding them: 'Ease sheet!' 'Down helm!' 'Luff a little!' &c. And indeed it is not certain that Lotty, mischievous little mouse, didn't sometimes invent an order for the sake of confusing her charge somewhat. 'What is it? How is it?' he would cry. 'Tell me in plain English, Lotty. What am I to do with this bit of stick?' The bit of stick was the tiller. Sometimes she would laugh right out at the serious aspect of his face; but she would praise him when he did well. That was an unfortunate forenoon for Antony, when, confident in his own seamanship, he made [Illustration: He found himself in the water next moment ... with the _Jenny Wren_ on her side. LASS. PAGE 71. ] up his mind to venture to sea alone in the _Jenny Wren_. Lotty was at a rehearsal of some kind, else I'm sure she would not have permitted him. There was a slight but delightful breeze that day, and he did not mean to go far. The wind seemed very steady too, so he gained heart as he went out. 'It is so easy,' he said to himself, 'and so jolly, that'--well, yes--he would smoke. Then he made the all but fatal mistake of fastening the sheet until he should light up. It wouldn't matter for a minute or two he thought, and surely a boat is no more difficult to manage than a bicycle. But a boat really seems to be like a horse, and knows when there is a lubber at the helm. It was not a squall--a real squall--only a bit of a puff, but Antony couldn't let fly the sheet in time, and the tiller got in the way. It is to be feared that he said, 'Hang the thing!' but he found himself in the water next moment in a dreadfully awkward position, with the _Jenny Wren_ on her side.