Prince Inga was up with the sun and, accompanied by Bilbil, began walking along the shore in search of the boat which the White Pearl had promised him.  Never for an instant did he doubt that he would find it and before he had walked any great distance a dark object at the water’s edge caught his eye.

“It is the boat, Bilbil!” he cried joyfully, and running down to it he found it was, indeed, a large and roomy boat.  Although stranded upon the beach, it was in perfect order and had suffered in no way from the storm.

Inga stood for some moments gazing upon the handsome craft and wondering where it could have come from.  Certainly it was unlike any boat he had ever seen.  On the outside it was painted a lustrous black, without any other color to relieve it; but all the inside of the boat was lined with pure silver, polished so highly that the surface resembled a mirror and glinted brilliantly in the rays of the sun.  The seats had white velvet cushions upon them and the cushions were splendidly embroidered with threads of gold.  At one end, beneath the broad seat, was a small barrel with silver hoops, which the boy found was filled with fresh, sweet water.  A great chest of sandalwood, bound and ornamented with silver, stood in the other end of the boat.  Inga raised the lid and discovered the chest filled with sea-biscuits, cakes, tinned meats and ripe, juicy melons; enough good and wholesome food to last the party a long time.

Lying upon the bottom of the boat were two shining oars, and overhead, but rolled back now, was a canopy of silver cloth to ward off the heat of the sun.

It is no wonder the boy was delighted with the appearance of this beautiful boat; but on reflection he feared it was too large for him to row any great distance.  Unless, indeed, the Blue Pearl gave him unusual strength.

While he was considering this matter, King Rinkitink came waddling up to him and said: 

“Well, well, well, my Prince, your words have come true!  Here is the boat, for a certainty, yet how it came here ­and how you knew it would come to us ­are puzzles that mystify me.  I do not question our good fortune, however, and my heart is bubbling with joy, for in this boat I will return at once to my City of Gilgad, from which I have remained absent altogether too long a time.”

“I do not wish to go to Gilgad,” said Inga.

“That is too bad, my friend, for you would be very welcome.  But you may remain upon this island, if you wish,” continued Rinkitink, “and when I get home I will send some of my people to rescue you.”

“It is my boat, Your Majesty,” said Inga quietly.

“May be, may be,” was the careless answer, “but I am King of a great country, while you are a boy Prince without any kingdom to speak of.  Therefore, being of greater importance than you, it is just and right that I take, your boat and return to my own country in it.”

“I am sorry to differ from Your Majesty’s views,” said Inga, “but instead of going to Gilgad I consider it of greater importance that we go to the islands of Regos and Coregos.”

“Hey?  What!” cried the astounded King.  “To Regos and Coregos!  To become slaves of the barbarians, like the King, your father?  No, no, my boy!  Your Uncle Rinki may have an empty noddle, as Bilbil claims, but he is far too wise to put his head in the lion’s mouth.  It’s no fun to be a slave.”

“The people of Regos and Coregos will not enslave us,” declared Inga.  “On the contrary, it is my intention to set free my dear parents, as well as all my people, and to bring them back again to Pingaree.”

“Cheek-eek-eek-eek-eek!  How funny!” chuckled Rinkitink, winking at the goat, which scowled in return.  “Your audacity takes my breath away, Inga, but the adventure has its charm, I must, confess.  Were I not so fat, I’d agree to your plan at once, and could probably conquer that horde of fierce warriors without any assistance at all ­any at all ­eh, Bilbil?  But I grieve to say that I am fat, and not in good fighting trim.  As for your determination to do what I admit I can’t do, Inga, I fear you forget that you are only a boy, and rather small at that.”

“No, I do not forget that,” was Inga’s reply.

“Then please consider that you and I and Bilbil are not strong enough, as an army, to conquer a powerful nation of skilled warriors.  We could attempt it, of course, but you are too young to die, while I am too old.  Come with me to my City of Gilgad, where you will be greatly honored.  I’ll have my professors teach you how to be good.  Eh?  What do you say?”

Inga was a little embarrassed how to reply to these arguments, which he knew King Rinkitink considered were wise; so, after a period of thought, he said: 

“I will make a bargain with Your Majesty, for I do not wish to fail in respect to so worthy a man and so great a King as yourself.  This boat is mine, as I have said, and in my father’s absence you have become my guest; therefore I claim that I am entitled to some consideration, as well as you.”

“No doubt of it,” agreed Rinkitink.  “What is the bargain you propose, Inga?”

“Let us both get into the boat, and you shall first try to row us to Gilgad.  If you succeed, I will accompany you right willingly; but should you fail, I will then row the boat to Regos, and you must come with me without further protest.”

“A fair and just bargain!” cried the King, highly pleased.  “Yet, although I am a man of mighty deeds, I do not relish the prospect of rowing so big a boat all the way to Gilgad.  But I will do my best and abide by the result.”

The matter being thus peaceably settled, they prepared to embark.  A further supply of fruits was placed in the boat and Inga also raked up a quantity of the delicious oysters that abounded on the coast of Pingaree but which he had before been unable to reach for lack of a boat.  This was done at the suggestion of the ever-hungry Rinkitink, and when the oysters had been stowed in their shells behind the water barrel and a plentiful supply of grass brought aboard for Bilbil, they decided they were ready to start on their voyage.

It proved no easy task to get Bilbil into the boat, for he was a remarkably clumsy goat and once, when Rinkitink gave him a push, he tumbled into the water and nearly drowned before they could get him out again.  But there was no thought of leaving the quaint animal behind.  His power of speech made him seem almost human in the eyes of the boy, and the fat King was so accustomed to his surly companion that nothing could have induced him to part with him.  Finally Bilbil fell sprawling into the bottom of the boat, and Inga helped him to get to the front end, where there was enough space for him to lie down.

Rinkitink now took his seat in the silver-lined craft and the boy came last, pushing off the boat as he sprang aboard, so that it floated freely upon the water.

“Well, here we go for Gilgad!” exclaimed the King, picking up the oars and placing them in the row-locks.  Then he began to row as hard as he could, singing at the same time an odd sort of a song that ran like this: 

  “The way to Gilgad isn’t bad
  For a stout old King and a brave young lad,
  For a cross old goat with a dripping coat,
  And a silver boat in which to float. 
  So our hearts are merry, light and glad
  As we speed away to fair Gilgad!”

“Don’t, Rinkitink; please don’t!  It makes me seasick,” growled Bilbil.

Rinkitink stopped rowing, for by this time he was all out of breath and his round face was covered with big drops of perspiration.  And when he looked over his shoulder he found to his dismay that the boat had scarcely moved a foot from its former position.

Inga said nothing and appeared not to notice the King’s failure.  So now Rinkitink, with a serious look on his fat, red face, took off his purple robe and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic and tried again.

However, he succeeded no better than before and when he heard Bilbil give a gruff laugh and saw a smile upon the boy Prince’s face, Rinkitink suddenly dropped the oars and began shouting with laughter at his own defeat.  As he wiped his brow with a yellow silk handkerchief he sang in a merry voice: 

  “A sailor bold am I, I hold,
  But boldness will not row a boat. 
  So I confess I’m in distress
  And just as useless as the goat.”

“Please leave me out of your verses,” said Bilbil with a snort of anger.

“When I make a fool of myself, Bilbil, I’m a goat,” replied Rinkitink.

“Not so,” insisted Bilbil.  “Nothing could make you a member of my superior race.”

“Superior?  Why, Bilbil, a goat is but a beast, while I am a King!”

“I claim that superiority lies in intelligence,” said the goat.

Rinkitink paid no attention to this remark, but turning to Inga he said: 

“We may as well get back to the shore, for the boat is too heavy to row to Gilgad or anywhere else.  Indeed, it will be hard for us to reach land again.”

“Let me take the oars,” suggested Inga.  “You must not forget our bargain.”

“No, indeed,” answered Rinkitink.  “If you can row us to Regos, or to any other place, I will go with you without protest.”

So the King took Inga’s place at the stern of the boat and the boy grasped the oars and commenced to row.  And now, to the great wonder of Rinkitink ­and even to Inga’s surprise ­the oars became light as feathers as soon as the Prince took hold of them.  In an instant the boat began to glide rapidly through the water and, seeing this, the boy turned its prow toward the north.  He did not know exactly where Regos and Coregos were located, but he did know that the islands lay to the north of Pingaree, so he decided to trust to luck and the guidance of the pearls to carry him to them.

Gradually the Island of Pingaree became smaller to their view as the boat sped onward, until at the end of an hour they had lost sight of it altogether and were wholly surrounded by the purple waters of the Nonestic Ocean.

Prince Inga did not tire from the labor of rowing; indeed, it seemed to him no labor at all.  Once he stopped long enough to place the poles of the canopy in the holes that had been made for them, in the edges of the boat, and to spread the canopy of silver over the poles, for Rinkitink had complained of the sun’s heat.  But the canopy shut out the hot rays and rendered the interior of the boat cool and pleasant.

“This is a glorious ride!” cried Rinkitink, as he lay back in the shade.  “I find it a decided relief to be away from that dismal island of Pingaree.

“It may be a relief for a short time,” said Bilbil, “but you are going to the land of your enemies, who will probably stick your fat body full of spears and arrows.”

“Oh, I hope not!” exclaimed Inga, distressed at the thought.

“Never mind,” said the King calmly, “a man can die but once, you know, and when the enemy kills me I shall beg him to kill Bilbil, also, that we may remain together in death as in life.”

“They may be cannibals, in which case they will roast and eat us,” suggested Bilbil, who wished to terrify his master.

“Who knows?” answered Rinkitink, with a shudder.  “But cheer up, Bilbil; they may not kill us after all, or even capture us; so let us not borrow trouble.  Do not look so cross, my sprightly quadruped, and I will sing to amuse you.”

“Your song would make me more cross than ever,” grumbled the goat.

“Quite impossible, dear Bilbil.  You couldn’t be more surly if you tried.  So here is a famous song for you.”

While the boy rowed steadily on and the boat rushed fast over the water, the jolly King, who never could be sad or serious for many minutes at a time, lay back on his embroidered cushions and sang as follows: 

  “A merry maiden went to sea ­
  Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! 
  She sat upon the Captain’s knee
  And looked around the sea to see
  What she could see, but she couldn’t see me ­
  Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!

“How do you like that, Bilbil?”

“I don’t like it,” complained the goat.  “It reminds me of the alligator that tried to whistle.”

“Did he succeed, Bilbil?” asked the King.

“He whistled as well as you sing.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, heek, keek, eek!” chuckled the King.  “He must have whistled most exquisitely, eh, my friend?”

“I am not your friend,” returned the goat, wagging his ears in a surly manner.

“I am yours, however,” was the King’s cheery reply; “and to prove it I’ll sing you another verse.”

“Don’t, I beg of you!”

But the King sang as follows: 

  “The wind blew off the maiden’s shoe ­
    Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! 
  And the shoe flew high to the sky so blue
  And the maiden knew ’twas a new shoe, too;
  But she couldn’t pursue the shoe, ’tis true ­
    Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!

“Isn’t that sweet, my pretty goat?”

“Sweet, do you ask?” retorted Bilbil.  “I consider it as sweet as candy made from mustard and vinegar.”

“But not as sweet as your disposition, I admit.  Ah, Bilbil, your temper would put honey itself to shame.”

“Do not quarrel, I beg of you,” pleaded Inga.  “Are we not sad enough already?”

“But this is a jolly quarrel,” said the King, “and it is the way Bilbil and I often amuse ourselves.  Listen, now, to the last verse of all: 

  “The maid who shied her shoe now cried ­
    Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! 
  Her tears were fried for the Captain’s bride
  Who ate with pride her sobs, beside,
  And gently sighed ’I’m satisfied’ ­
    Sing to-ral-oo-ral-i-do!”

“Worse and worse!” grumbled Bilbil, with much scorn.  “I am glad that is the last verse, for another of the same kind might cause me to faint.”

“I fear you have no ear for music,” said the King.

“I have heard no music, as yet,” declared the goat.  “You must have a strong imagination, King Rinkitink, if you consider your songs music.  Do you remember the story of the bear that hired out for a nursemaid?”

“I do not recall it just now,” said Rinkitink, with a wink at Inga.

“Well, the bear tried to sing a lullaby to put the baby to sleep.”

“And then?” said the King.

“The bear was highly pleased with its own voice, but the baby was nearly frightened to death.”

“Heh, heb, heh, heh, whoo, hoo, hoo!  You are a merry rogue, Bilbil,” laughed the King; “a merry rogue in spite of your gloomy features.  However, if I have not amused you, I have at least pleased myself, for I am exceedingly fond of a good song.  So let us say no more about it.”

All this time the boy Prince was rowing the boat.  He was not in the least tired, for the oars he held seemed to move of their own accord.  He paid little heed to the conversation of Rinkitink and the goat, but busied his thoughts with plans of what he should do when he reached the islands of Regos and Coregos and confronted his enemies.  When the others finally became silent, Inga inquired.

“Can you fight, King Rinkitink?”

“I have never tried,” was the answer.  “In time of danger I have found it much easier to run away than to face the foe.”

“But could you fight?” asked the boy.

“I might try, if there was no chance to escape by running.  Have you a proper weapon for me to fight with?”

“I have no weapon at all,” confessed Inga.

“Then let us use argument and persuasion instead of fighting.  For instance, if we could persuade the warriors of Regos to lie down, and let me step on them, they would be crushed with ease.”

Prince Inga had expected little support from the King, so he was not discouraged by this answer.  After all, he reflected, a conquest by battle would be out of the question, yet the White Pearl would not have advised him to go to Regos and Coregos had the mission been a hopeless one.  It seemed to him, on further reflection, that he must rely upon circumstances to determine his actions when he reached the islands of the barbarians.

By this time Inga felt perfect confidence in the Magic Pearls.  It was the White Pearl that had given him the boat, and the Blue Pearl that had given him strength to row it.  He believed that the Pink Pearl would protect him from any danger that might arise; so his anxiety was not for himself, but for his companions.  King Rinkitink and the goat had no magic to protect them, so Inga resolved to do all in his power to keep them from harm.

For three days and three nights the boat with the silver lining sped swiftly over the ocean.  On the morning of the fourth day, so quickly had they traveled, Inga saw before him the shores of the two great islands of Regos and Coregos.

“The pearls have guided me aright!” he whispered to himself.  “Now, if I am wise, and cautious, and brave, I believe I shall be able to rescue my father and mother and my people.”