“If one island is the same to you as another,” said Priscilla, “and you haven’t any particular one in your mind, I’d advise you to stop at this one.”
“But I have.”
“Which one?”
The young man looked at her suspiciously and then took his oars.
“I hope your island is quite near,” said Priscilla, “For if it isn’t you’re not likely to get there. Were you ever in a boat before?”
The young man pulled a few strokes and got his boat into the channel beyond the red perches.
“I think,” said Priscilla, “that you might say ‘thank you,’ Only for me you’d have been left stranded on that rock till the tide rose again and floated you off somewhere between four and five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” said the young man, “thank you very much indeed.”
“But where are you going?”
The question seemed to frighten him. He began to row with desperate energy. In a few minutes he was far down the channel. Priscilla watched him. Then she swam to her bay, pushed the Blue Wanderer a little further from the shore and landed.