Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down, Oh, give us TIME to blow the man down.

You're a dirty black-baller come back from New York, Yeo ho! blow the man down, Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down.

Oh, give us time to blow the man down."

"Oh, give us TIME to blow the man down!" echoed d.i.c.k and Emmeline.

Up above, in the trees, the bright-eyed birds were watching them--such a happy party. They had all the appearance of picnickers, and the song echoed amongst the cocoa-nut trees, and the wind carried it over the lagoon to where the sea-gulls were wheeling and screaming, and the foam was thundering on the reef.

That evening, Mr b.u.t.ton feeling inclined for joviality, and not wishing the children to see him under the influence, rolled the barrel through the cocoa-nut grove to a little clearing by the edge of the water.

There, when the children were in bed and asleep, he repaired with some green cocoa-nuts and a sh.e.l.l. He was generally musical when amusing himself in this fashion, and Emmeline, waking up during the night, heard his voice borne through the moonlit cocoa-nut grove by the wind:

"There were five or six old drunken sailors Standin' before the bar, And Larry, he was servin' them From a big five-gallon jar.

"Chorus.-- Hoist up the flag, long may it wave!

Long may it lade us to glory or the grave.

Stidy, boys, stidy--sound the jubilee, For Babylon has fallen, and the slaves are all set free."

Next morning the musician awoke beside the cask. He had not a trace of a headache, or any bad feeling, but he made d.i.c.k do the cooking; and he lay in the shade of the cocoa-nut trees, with his head on a "pilla"

made out of an old coat rolled up, twiddling his thumbs, smoking his pipe, and discoursing about the "ould" days, half to himself and half to his companions.

That night he had another musical evening all to himself, and so it went on for a week. Then he began to lose his appet.i.te and sleep; and one morning d.i.c.k found him sitting on the sand looking very queer indeed--as well he might, for he had been "seeing things" since dawn.

"What is it, Paddy?" said the boy, running up, followed by Emmeline.

Mr b.u.t.ton was staring at a point on the sand close by. He had his right hand raised after the manner of a person who is trying to catch a fly.

Suddenly he made a grab at the sand, and then opened his hand wide to see what he had caught.

"What is it, Paddy?"

"The Cluricaune," replied Mr b.u.t.ton. "All dressed in green he was--musha! musha! but it's only pretindin' I am."

The complaint from which he was suffering has this strange thing about it, that, though the patient sees rats, or snakes, or what-not, as real-looking as the real things, and though they possess his mind for a moment, almost immediately he recognises that he is suffering from a delusion.

The children laughed, and Mr b.u.t.ton laughed in a stupid sort of way.

"Sure, it was only a game I was playin'--there was no Cluricaune at all--it's whin I dhrink rum it puts it into me head to play games like that. Oh, be the Holy Poker, there's red rats comin' out of the sand!"

He got on his hands and knees and scuttle off towards the cocoanut trees, looking over his shoulder with a bewildered expression on his face. He would have risen to fly, only he dared not stand up.

The children laughed and danced round him as he crawled.

"Look at the rats, Paddy! look at the rats!" cried d.i.c.k.

"They're in front of me!" cried the afflicted one, making a vicious grab at an imaginary rodent's tail. "Ran dan the bastes! now they're gone. Musha, but it's a fool I'm makin' of meself."

"Go on, Paddy," said d.i.c.k; "don't stop. Look there--there's more rats coming after you!"

"Oh, whisht, will you?" replied Paddy, taking his seat on the sand, and wiping his brow. "They're aff me now."

The children stood by, disappointed of their game. Good acting appeals to children just as much as to grown-up people. They stood waiting for another excess of humour to take the comedian, and they had not to wait long.

A thing like a flayed horse came out of the lagoon and up the beach, and this time b.u.t.ton did not crawl away. He got on his feet and ran.

"It's a ha.r.s.e that's afther me--it's a ha.r.s.e that's afther me! d.i.c.k!

d.i.c.k! hit him a skelp. d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k! dhrive him away."

"Hurroo! Hurroo!" cried d.i.c.k, chasing the afflicted one, who was running in a wide circle, his broad red face slewed over his left shoulder. "Go it, Paddy! go it, Paddy!"

"Kape off me, you baste!" shouted Paddy. "Holy Mary, Mother of G.o.d!

I'll land you a kick wid me fut if yiz come nigh me. Em'leen! Em'leen!

come betune us!"

He tripped, and over he went on the sand, the indefatigable d.i.c.k beating him with a little switch he had picked up to make him continue.

"I'm better now, but I'm near wore out," said Mr b.u.t.ton, sitting up on the sand. "But, bedad, if I'm chased by any more things like them it's into the say I'll be dashin'. d.i.c.k, lend me your arum."

He took d.i.c.k's arm and wandered over to the shade of the trees. Here he threw himself down, and told the children to leave him to sleep.

They recognised that the game was over and left him. And he slept for six hours on end; it was the first real sleep he had had for several days. When he awoke he was well, but very shaky.

CHAPTER XIX

STARLIGHT ON THE FOAM

Mr b.u.t.ton saw no more rats, much to d.i.c.k's disappointment. He was off the drink. At dawn next day he got up, refreshed by a second sleep, and wandered down to the edge of the lagoon. The opening in the reef faced the east, and the light of the dawn came rippling in with the flooding tide.

"It's a baste I've been," said the repentant one, "a brute baste."

He was quite wrong; as a matter of fact, he was only a man beset and betrayed.

He stood for a while, cursing the drink, "and them that sells it." Then he determined to put himself out of the way of temptation. Pull the bung out of the barrel, and let the contents escape?

Such a thought never even occurred to him--or, if it did, was instantly dismissed; for, though an old sailor-man may curse the drink, good rum is to him a sacred thing; and to empty half a little barrel of it into the sea, would be an act almost equivalent to child-murder. He put the cask into the dinghy, and rowed it over to the reef. There he placed it in the shelter of a great lump of coral, and rowed back.

Paddy had been trained all his life to rhythmical drunkenness. Four months or so had generally elapsed between his bouts--sometimes six; it all depended on the length of the voyage. Six months now elapsed before he felt even an inclination to look at the rum cask, that tiny dark spot away on the reef. And it was just as well, for during those six months another whale-ship arrived, watered and was avoided.

"Blisther it!" said he; "the say here seems to breed whale-ships, and nothin' but whaleships. It's like bugs in a bed: you kill wan, and then another comes. Howsumever, we're shut of thim for a while."

He walked down to the lagoon edge, looked at the little dark spot and whistled. Then he walked back to prepare dinner. That little dark spot began to trouble him after a while; not it, but the spirit it contained.

Days grew long and weary, the days that had been so short and pleasant.

To the children there was no such thing as time. Having absolute and perfect health, they enjoyed happiness as far as mortals can enjoy it.

Emmeline's highly strung nervous system, it is true, developed a headache when she had been too long in the glare of the sun, but they were few and far between.

The spirit in the little cask had been whispering across the lagoon for some weeks; at last it began to shout. Mr b.u.t.ton, metaphorically speaking, stopped his ears. He busied himself with the children as much as possible. He made another garment for Emmeline, and cut d.i.c.k's hair with the scissors (a job which was generally performed once in a couple of months).

One night, to keep the rum from troubling his head, he told them the story of Jack Dogherty and the Merrow, which is well known on the western coast.