Well,' I shrug, all innocent, 'we all ride our little hobbyhorses, don't we, Mr. Peel?

You've got to think of the fine times you had with your mate, not the moment of his perishin'. Every tear you shed now only wets his windin' sheet and disturbs his rest

We clear the harbor and the wind catches her sails and my beautiful ship leans over ever so gracefully, and her elegant bow cuts cleanly into the increasing chop of the waves. I take a deep breath and my chest expands and my heart starts thumping so strongly I fear the others might see it beat through the cloth of my jacket. I face the wind and my lips peel back from my teeth in a grin of pure joy.

The sun in on the harbor, love, And I wish I could remain, For I know it will be some long, long time, Before I see you again.

Well,' I shrug, all innocent, 'we all ride our little hobbyhorses, don't we, Mr. Peel?

Ah Padriac. I have often wondered if boys who have flaming red hair up top also have...yep.

And if that is the Foremast, what do you think that sail might be called, Mr. Wheeler?" "The Foresail?" "Very good, Mr. Wheeler, and the next one up would be called..." ..."The Next Sail, Sir?" "Alas, no, Mr. Wheeler.