“Is it very deep?” he said.
“Where you are,” said Priscilla, “it’s quite shallow, but if you step over the edge of the rock there’s six foot of water and more.”
The young man sat down and began to unlace his boots.
“If you wait to do that,” said Priscilla, “you’ll be high and dry altogether. Never mind your boots. Hop out and shove.”
He stepped cautiously over the side of his boat, seized his gunwale and shoved. The boat slipped off the rock, stern first. The young man staggered, loosed his hold on her and then stood gaping helplessly, ankle deep in water perched on a very slippery rock, while the boat slipped away from him, stemming the tide as long as the impulse of his push lasted.
“What shall I do now?” he asked.
“Stand where you are,” said Priscilla. “She’ll drift down to you again. I’ll give her a shove so that she’ll come right up to you.”
She swam after the boat and laid a hand on her gunwale. Then, kicking and splashing, guided her back to the young man on the rock. He climbed on board.
“Where do you suppose you’re going?” asked Priscilla.
“To an island,” said the young man.