The visitor gave a despairing stare at the steamer, and the wake of foam she had left behind.
“You will be all right directly,” said Kenneth, suppressing his mirth. “You’re not used to the sea?”
“No.”
“We are. There, give me your hand. You sit there aft and hold the tiller, while I help Scood run up the sails.”
“Thank you, I’m much obliged. But if you could set me ashore.”
“It’s three miles away,” said Kenneth, glancing at the mainland.
“No, no; I mean there.”
“There? That’s only a rocky island with a few sheep on it. And there’s such a wild race there, it’s dangerous at this time of the tide.”
“Are they savages?”
“Savages?”