“That’s it, lads, steady it is!” cried the fisherman. “Lay out well clear of ’em, Master Linnell, sir. Mind they don’t kick you. I’ll steer ’em, and we shall do it. You hold on, mum; it’s all right.”
Cora’s head and shoulders were above the water and the ponies were swimming well now, and obeying the pressure of the fisherman’s hand, though they needed little guidance now they were making steadily for the shore.
“I thought they’d do it, Master Linnell, sir. Good boys, then. Good lads. Pity to let ’em drown,” said the fisherman coolly.
“Right,” cried Linnell, easing the pony on his side by swimming with one hand. “Keep still, Miss Dean. We shall soon be ashore. There’s no danger now. Yes, there is,” he muttered. “Those boats.”
Cora turned her eyes upon him with a frightened look, but she was growing more calm, though she could not speak, and the ponies kept on snorting loudly as they swam on.
“Keep quiet, will you, you fools!” grumbled Dick Miggles, as bursts of cheers kept rising from the pier, answered by a gathering crowd on the beach about where they were expected to land, while the cliff was now lined with people who had heard of the accident on the pier.
“Here! hoy!” roared Dick Miggles, who had grasped the danger. “Wo-ho, my boys, I’m with you. It’s all right.”
“Ahoy!” came from the nearest boat, whose occupants were rowing with all their might.
“Back with you. D’ye hear! Wo-ho, lads; it’s all right. Back, I say. You’ll frighten the horses again.”
“We’re coming to help you,” came from the boat.