“Anyhow,” said Priscilla, “I haven’t time to stay here and see him drown, though of course it would be interesting. I’m going to bathe and I have to get back again in time to meet the train.”
Peter Walsh laid the Blue Wanderer alongside the slip. He laced the new lug to its yard, made fast the tack and hoisted it, gazing critically at it as it rose. Then he stepped out of the boat. Priscilla flung her bathing-dress and towel on board and took her seat in the stern.
“You’ll find the tiller under the floor board, Miss. With the little air of wind there is from the south you’ll slip down to Delginish easy enough if it’s there you’re thinking of going.”
“Shove her head round now, Peter, and give her a push off. I’ll get way on her when I’m out a bit from the slip.”
The sail flapped, bellied, flapped again, finally swung over to starboard. Priscilla settled herself in the stern with the sheet in her hand.
“The tide’s under you, Miss,” said Peter Walsh, “You’ll slip out easy enough.”
The Blue Wanderer, urged by the faint southerly breeze, slid along. The water was scarcely rippled by the wind but the tide ran strongly. One buoy after another was passed. A large black boat lay alongside the quay, loaded heavily with gravel. The owner leaned over his gunwale and greeted Priscilla. She replied with friendly familiarity.
“How are you, Kinsella? How’s Jimmy and the baby? I expect the baby’s grown a lot.”
“You’re looking fine yourself, Miss,” said Joseph Antony Kinsella. “The baby and the rest of them is doing grand, thanks be to God.”
The Blue Wanderer slipped past. She reached one and then another of the perches which mark the channel into the harbour. The breeze freshened slightly. Little wavelets formed under the Blue Wandere’s bow and curled outwards from her sides, spreading slowly and then fading away in her wake. Priscilla drew a biscuit from her pocket and munched it contentedly.