“Never mind: there’s the boat; we must take French leave;” and Walter, springing down, hastily unmoored it.
“Wah! what a horrid old tub, and it wants baling, Walter.”
“We can’t stay for that, Charlie boy; it’s a good thing that Semlyn Lake has taught us both to row, isn’t it?”
“O yes; don’t you wish we had the little Pearl here now, Walter? Wouldn’t we make it fly, instead of this cranky old wretch.”
“Well, we must fancy that this is the Pearl and this Semlyn Lake,” said Walter, wading up to the knees to launch the boat, and springing in when he had given it the final shove.
They were excellent rowers, but Charlie had never tried his skill in a sea like that, and was timid, for which there was every excuse.
“How very rough it is, Walter,” he said, as the boat tossed up and down like an egg-shell on the high waves.
“Keep up your heart, Charlie, and row steadily; don’t be afraid.”
“No, Walter, I won’t, as you’re with me; but—Walter?”
“Well?”