says I, and he laughed like he always did
at me. "Do you ever feel minded to jump overside and be done with
everything?" he asks after a while.

'"No. What water comes aboard is too wet as 'tis," I says. "The
Spanisher's going about."

'"I told you," says he, never looking back. "He'll give us the Pope's
Blessing as he swings. Come down off that rail. There's no knowin' where
stray shots may hit." So I came down off the rail, and leaned against
it, and the Spanisher he ruffled round in the wind, and his port-lids
opened all red inside.

'"Now what'll happen to my road if they don't let me lie quiet in my
grave?" he says. "Does your Aunt mean there's two roads to be found and
kept open--or what does she mean? I don't like that talk about t'other
road. D'you believe in your iron ships, Sim?"

'He knowed I did, so I only nodded, and he nodded back again. '"Anybody
but me 'ud call you a fool, Sim," he says. "Lie down. Here comes the
Pope's Blessing!"

'The Spanisher gave us his broadside as he went about. They all fell
short except one that smack-smooth hit the rail behind my back, an' I
felt most won'erful cold.

'"Be you hit anywhere to signify?" he says. "Come over to me."

'"O Lord, Mus' Drake," I says, "my legs won't move," and that was the
last I spoke for months.'

'Why? What had happened?' cried Dan and Una together.

'The rail had jarred me in here like.' Simon reached behind him
clumsily. 'From my shoulders down I didn't act no shape. Frankie carried
me piggyback to my Aunt's house, and I lay bed-rid and tongue-tied while
she rubbed me day and night, month in and month out. She had faith in
rubbing with the hands. P'raps she put some of her gifts into it, too.
Last of all, something loosed itself in my pore back, and lo! I was
whole restored again, but kitten-feeble.

'"Where's Frankie?" I says, thinking I'd been a longish while abed.

'"Down-wind amongst the Dons--months ago," says my Aunt.

'"When can I go after 'en?" I says.

'"Your duty's to your town and trade now," says she. "Your Uncle he
died last Michaelmas and he've left you and me the yard. So no more iron
ships, mind ye."

'"What?" I says. "And you the only one that beleft in 'em!"

'"Maybe I do still," she says, "but I'm a woman before I'm a Whitgift,
and wooden ships is what England needs us to build. I lay on ye to do
so."

'That's why I've never teched iron since that day--not to build a
toy ship of. I've never even drawed a