"Bah!" exclaimed Steve; and he walked forward to where the stout red-faced sailor who had pulled him aboard from the wharf was busy applying grease to the fore-mast. "What's that cask for, Hamish?" "Yon, sir? For the crows," said the man, grinning. "What! do we shoot crows and salt them down in that tub?" "Oh no, sir. They shoots themselves up through the bottom." Steve stood staring at the man for a moment, and then turned away impatiently. "How stupid of me," he said. "I ought to have known. Crow's-nest, of course." He walked near to the foot of the main-mast just as the Norwegian sailor who had been up aloft turned the tub down with its bottom forward, went on one knee and pushed the bottom inward, one end rising up and showing that the other side worked upon hinges. "She'll want a little iling," said the man; then, turning the tub upright again, the bottom fell into its place with a snap, and the man turned and took the ball of tarred twine from McByle, and walked to the side. "Now, boy," he said to Watty Links, "bring up that stuff." He took hold of the shrouds, swung himself on to the bulwarks, and began to mount the ratlines as calmly as if it were a broad staircase, though the vessel was careening over, and rising and falling on the swell. "Now, my lad, up with you," said the captain. "Stop there, and hand him the pieces as he wants them." The boy's face wrinkled up, and he looked down at his bundle of many-lengthed laths, then up at the top-mast, and then at the captain. "Well, did you hear what I said, sir?" "Yes, sir." "Then why don't you run up?" "The wind blaws, sir, and I dinna thenk I can haud on." "What? Why, you contemptible, lubberly young rascal, what do you mean? You come to sea, and afraid to go aloft!" "Na, I winna say I'm afraid to gang aloft, sir; but my heid's a' of a wark when I get up, and I might fa' and hurt somebody." Captain, mate, the doctor, and Steve burst into a roar of laughter at this; and feeling that he must have said something unusually clever the boy looked smiling round, letting his eyes rest at last upon Steve. "Here, this won't do!" cried Mr Lowe. "Now, boy, no nonsense; up with you!" "Na," said the boy sturdily, and he shook his shock head. "My mither said I wasna to rin into danger, and I didna come to sea to fa' overboard, or come doon upon the deck wi' a roon." "Now, boy, come along!" cried the sailor, who was high up above the top. "Do you hear, sir! Up with you, or you'll get the rope's end!" cried the mate angrily. "Don't send him," said the captain in an undertone. "The young cur may fall." "I'll take them!" cried Steve; and stepping forward, he leaped up into the shrouds and held down his hand for the bundle. The captain gave his head a nod. "Up with you then, my lad. Shall I send a man to lash you to the rigging?" "Yes, sir, when I ask," cried Steve: and taking the bundle of pieces of wood under his arm he began to mount steadily.