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BOOK I-8
EVERY HOUR OR SO MR. Button would shake his lethargy off, and rise and look round for “seagulls,” but the prospect was sail-less as the prehistoric sea, wingless, voiceless. When d**k would fret now and then, the old sailor would always devise some means of amusing him. He made him fishing tackle out of a bent pin and some small twine that happened to be in the boat, and told him to fish for “pinkeens”; and d**k, with the pathetic faith of childhood, fished. Then he told them things. He had spent a year at Deal long ago, where a cousin of his was married to a boatman. Mr. Button had put in a year as a longshoreman at Deal, and he had got a great lot to tell of his cousin and her husband, and more especially of one, Hannah; Hannah was his cousin’s baby—a most marvellous child, who was bor
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