He tried again, and waded manfully until in above his knees; here he faltered. The other boys, who had been through the ordeal and were happy, began to splash him with chilling drops, so that his naked body shrank, and he shivered and begged.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” he chattered. “Only let me be, a minute.”
“Then wet over or we’ll douse you!” threatened his persecutors, menacing him, in a half-circle.
“I will! I will! Quit! Don’t you see I am?” implored Ned, wading a little farther. “Gimme a chance to wet my head so I won’t have cramp, can’t you?”
He stopped, and raising water in his hands dabbled it upon his chest and back and hair, trying to get used by degrees to the change. To his fingers the goose-flesh on him felt like stubble!
Bob, joining forces with the other scoffing spectators, raced along the shallows of the beach, barking his derision. Great cats! what a silly boy! He had been in and out of the water a dozen times.
Suddenly Ned drew a big breath, shut his eyes, and ducked under, sousing himself completely. He emerged choking, staggering, gasping, while his companions, tickled into spasms of merriment, wallowed and shrieked.
But Ned minded not; the worst was past. He boldly lunged ahead for a swim, and the water was not a bit cold.
Beaufort bathers had choice of three favorite resorts. First, there were the rafts, brought down by the steamboats for the mills, and laid up against the shore, waiting their turn to be sawed into lumber—and slabs for Ned to pile! Sometimes their outer edge extended clear to the channel, and to dive from here into the swift, dusky current thirty feet in depth was tremendously exhilarating. When you came to the surface you were fifteen or twenty yards below the point whence you had started.
At the lower end of the rafts was slack water, where you could swim with no fear of being carried away. An especially good feature about the rafts lay in the fact that the logs were nice and clean, and when you dressed you did not get sand in your stockings.