“Yes,” said Max, as the boat glided on over the calm heaving water till they were right under a great grey wall of crag, which towered above their heads, and cast clearly-cut reflections on the crystal water over which they rode.
“That’s five hundred feet if it’s an inch,” said Kenneth, as he threw himself back and gazed up. “Look, Max.”
“What at?”
“See those two black fellows on that ledge with their wings open?”
“Yes. What are they—blackbirds?”
“Black enough. Cormorants drying their plumage.”
“But it hasn’t been raining.”
“No; but they’ve been diving, and got well wet. Why, they can swim under water like a fish.”
“Go on, if you like telling travellers’ tales,” said Max, smiling.
“Well, of all the unbelieving old Jews! Just as if I was always trying to cram you! I tell you they do. So do the gannets and dookkers. They dive down, and swim wonderfully under water, and chase and catch the fish. They’re obliged to.”