For the mainsail began to shiver slightly, and the glassy water to send forth scintillations instead of one broad silvery gleam.
Kenneth seized the tiller, and the next minute they were gliding through the water, trying how near the duck-shaped boat would sail to the wind.
For the next half-hour they were tacking to and fro right in the course of the coming steamer, till, judging their distance pretty well, sail was lowered, oars put out, and they rowed till the faces which crowded the forward part of the swift boat were plain to see. Soon after, while the cloud of smoke seemed to have become ten times more black, and the cloud of gulls which accompanied the steamer by contrast more white, the paddles ceased churning up the clear water and sending it astern in foam, a couple of men in blue jerseys stood ready to throw a rope, which Scood caught, and turned round the thwart forward, and Kenneth stood up, gazing eagerly at the little crowd by the paddle-box.
“How are you, captain?”
“How are you, squire?”
“Any one for us?”
“Yes. Young gent for Dunroe,” said a man with a gold-braided cap.
“Where is he?”
“Here just now. Here’s his luggage,” said one of the men in blue jerseys. “There he is.”
“Now then, sir! Look alive, please.”