"Sir!" screamed a voice.
The Parson started round.
"Knapp!" he cried, with sickening face. "Put back!"
A hand was on his shoulder. It was Kit.
The boy did not speak; he did not weep; he pointed seaward to where a topsail flashed white on the horizon.
The Parson looked at the green waters swinging by.
"And I can't swim!" he groaned. "God forgive me!"
An inspiration seized him.
He leapt on to the taffrail.
"Sir," he shouted, pointing, "that's a brave man!"