sails, anchor, and carved figure-head. The woodwork was painted in white and green and red, and at bow and stern was richly carved and gilded.
"For me," Dickie said—"really for me? And you made it yourself!"
"Truth to tell, I began it long since in the long winter evenings," said his friend, "and now 'tis done and 'tis thine. See, I shall put an apron on thee and thou shalt be my 'prentice and learn to build another quaint ship like her—to be her consort; and we will sail them together in the pond in thy father's garden."
Dickie, still devouring the little Golden Venture with his eyes, submitted to the leather apron, and felt in his hand the smooth handle of the tool Sebastian put there.
"But," he said, "I don't understand. You remember the Armada—twenty years ago. I thought it was hundreds and hundreds."
"Twenty years ago—or nearer eighteen," said Sebastian; "thou'lt have to learn to reckon better than that if thou'st to be my 'prentice. 'Twas in the year of grace 1588, and we are now in the year 1606. This makes it eighteen years, to my reckoning."
"It was 1906 in my dream," said Dickie—"I mean in my fever."
"In fever," Sebastian said, "folk travel far. "Now, hold the wood so, and the knife thus."
Then every day Dickie went down to the dockyard when lessons were done. For there were lessons now, with a sour-faced tutor in a
