“What is it?” Amy wanted to know.

“The galley, lass, the galley.  That’s where we cook aboard a ship, in the galley.  There’s an alcohol and oil stove combined.  You can have chafing dish parties—­ is that what you call them? and he laughed.

“That’s right, Uncle,” cried Betty.  “And see the—­ what are we supposed to call these?” and she pointed to pots, pans, dishes and other utensils that hung around the galley.

“Oh, call ’em galley truck, that’s as good a name as any,” said the old captain.  “Do you like this, Bet?”

“Like it, Uncle Amos!  It’s the dearest little boat in the world.  I don’t deserve it.  You are so good to get it for me, and it was such a surprise.”

“Yes, I calculated it would be a surprise, all right.  But I didn’t forget that you always wanted to be a sailor, and so when I got the chance, I made up my mind I’d get you something worth while before I got sent to Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Where is that?” asked Amy, innocently.

“Oh, he means before he got drowned, or something like that,” explained Betty.  “Oh, Uncle Amos, you’re a dear!” and she kissed him, somewhat to his confusion.

“So I got a man to build this boat to suit my ideas,” went on the old seaman.  “It’s equipped for salt water, if so be you should ever want to take a trip to sea.”

“Never!” cried Mollie.

“Well, you never can tell,” he said sagely.  “After she was finished I had him ship her here, and then I got her into the water.  I will say, that, for her size, she is a sweet little craft.  And I hope you’ll like her, Bet.”

“Like her!  Who could help it?  Uncle you’re a——­ "

“No more kissing, Bet.  I’m too old for that.”

“The idea!  Oh, girls, aren’t the bunks too cute for anything!” and Betty sat down on one.

“And the dining room—­ may I call it that?” Grace timidly asked of the captain.

“Well, saloon is a better word, but let it go,” he murmured.  “Now, what do you say to a little run down the river?  It will give you an idea of how to handle her.”

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Betty.  “Let’s go, girls.”

“That man is from the firm that built the craft,” went on the former sailor.  “He’ll show you all the wrinkles,” and he motioned to a man standing near.

Lines were cast off, the motor started, the clutch thrown in and then, with Captain Betty at the wheel, her uncle standing near to instruct her, the Gem started down the stream, attracting not a little attention.

“This is a sea wheel,” explained the captain.  “That is, you turn it the opposite way to what you want the boat to go.  I wouldn’t have a land-lubber’s wheel on any boat I built.  So don’t forget, Bet, your boat shifts opposite to the way you turn the wheel.”

“I’ll remember, Uncle.”

With dancing eyes and flushed faces, the girls sat in the cockpit back, or “aft,” of the trunk cabin, and watched Betty steer.  She did very well, for she had had some practice in a small motor boat the girls occasionally hired.