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He took his way slowly down, hiding behind trees, looking out and then sneaking forward again, until he reached the open beach. The picnic party was still feasting merrily, making speeches and drinking one another’s health. Johnny stole along, dodging from rock to rock. Suddenly one of the ladies called out: “Mercy! there he is!” Then they all clapped their hands and shouted to him and clapped their hands again.

“Come here, boy,” called a very stout gentleman, the cross merchant who owned the “Sea Mew.”

Oh, dear! How embarrassing it was—perfectly horrid! And how they roared again as he came on to the wharf!

“What kind of a specimen are you?” asked the stout gentleman.

“I am not a specimen. I am Johnny Blossom.”

“No—are you really?”

Johnny did not see anything to laugh at, yet they laughed harder than ever.

“May I ask whether it was you that took the boat-hook out of my sail-boat?”

The stout gentleman had a tight grip on Johnny’s little red ear.

“Please excuse me about the boat-hook,” and a small brown hand was stretched out and laid in the merchant’s hand.