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OME, Jack," cried Peterkin, one morning about three weeks after our return from our long excursion, "let's be jolly to-day, and do something vigorous. I'm quite tired of hammering and bammering, hewing and screwing, cutting and butting, at that little boat of ours, that seems as hard to build as Noah's ark; let us go on an excursion to the mountain top, or have a hunt after the wild ducks, or make a dash at the pigs. I'm quite flat—flat as bad ginger-beer—flat as a pancake; in fact, I want something to rouse me, to toss me up, as it were. Eh! what do you say to it?"

"Well," answered Jack, throwing down the axe with which he was just about to proceed towards the boat, "if that's what you want, I would recommend you to make an excursion to the water-spouts; the last one we had to do with tossed you up a considerable height, perhaps the next will send you higher, who knows, if you're at all reasonable or moderate in your expectations!"

"Jack, my dear boy," said Peterkin, gravely, "you are really becoming too fond of jesting. It's a thing I don't at all approve of, and if you don't give it up, I fear that, for our mutual good, we shall have to part."