It was some little time before they could settle down again after this, but ultimately they got back in their old position, and the infatuated Codd was just about to wax sentimental again, when he felt something behind him. He turned with a start as a portly retriever inserted his head under his left arm, and slowly but vigorously forced himself between them; then he sat on his haunches and panted, while the disconcerted Codd strove to realise the humour of the position. “I think I shall go to bed now,” said Mrs. Bunker, after the position had lasted long enough to be unendurable. “If anything happens, a collision or anything, don’t be afraid to let me know.” The skipper promised, and, shaking hands, bade his passenger good-night. She descended, somewhat clumsily, it is true, into the little cabin, and the skipper, sitting by the helm, which he lazily manœuvred as required, smoked his short clay and fell into a lover’s reverie. So he sat and smoked until the barge, which had, by the help of the breeze, been making its way against the tide, began to realise that that good friend had almost dropped, and at the same time bethought itself of a small anchor which hung over the bows ready for emergencies such as these. “We must bring up, Bill,” said the skipper. “Ay, ay!” said Bill, sleepily raising himself from the hatchway. “Over she goes.” With no more ceremony than this he dropped the anchor; the sail, with two strong men hauling on to it, creaked and rustled its way close to the mast, and the _Sir Edmund Lyons_ was ready for sleep. “I can do with a nap,” said Bill. “I’m dog-tired.” “So am I,” said the other. “It’ll be a tight fit down for’ard, but we couldn’t ask a lady to sleep there.” Bill gave a non-committal grunt, and as the captain, after the manner of his kind, took a last look round before retiring, placed his hands on the hatch and lowered himself down. The next moment he came up with a wild yell, and, sitting on the deck, rolled up his trousers and fondled his leg. “What’s the matter?” inquired the skipper. “That blessed dog’s down there, that’s all,” said the injured Bill. “He’s evidently mistook it for his kennel, and I don’t wonder at it. I thought he’d been wonderful quiet.” “We must talk him over,” said the skipper, advancing to the hatchway. “Poor dog! Poor old chap! Come along, then! Come along!” He patted his leg and whistled, and the dog, which wanted to get to sleep again, growled like a small thunderstorm. “Come on, old fellow!” said the skipper enticingly. “Come along, come on, then!” The dog came at last, and then the skipper, instead of staying to pat him, raced Bill up the ropes, while the brute, in execrable taste, paced up and down the deck daring them to come down. Coming to the conclusion, at last, that they were settled for the night, he returned to the forecastle and, after a warning bark or two, turned in again. Both men, after waiting a few minutes, cautiously regained the deck.