“I’m not going down the channel. I mean to stand across to Rossmore and then go into the bay beyond.” Priscilla stepped into the boat and took the tiller.
“Did I hear you say, Miss, that you’re thinking of going on to Inishbawn?”
“You did not hear me say anything about Inishbawn; but I may go there all the same if I’ve time. I want to see the Kinsellas’ new baby.”
“If you’ll take my advice, Miss,” said Peter, “you’ll not go next nor nigh Inishbawn.”
“And why not?”
“Joseph Antony Kinsella was telling me this morning that it’s alive with rats, such rats nobody ever seen. They have the island pretty near eat away.”
“Talk sense,” said Priscilla.
“They came out on the tide swimming,” said Peter, “like as it might be a shoal of mackerel, and you think there’d be no end to them climbing up over the stones and eating all before them.”
“Shove her bow round, Peter; and keep that rat story of yours for the young man in Flanagan’s boat. He’ll believe it if he’s as innocent as you say.”
Peter shoved out the Tortoise. The wind caught the sail. Priscilla paid out the main sheet and let the boom swing forward. Peter shouted a last warning from the slip.