“Oh yes, and some people threw biscuits to them. They were like a great grey and white cloud.”
“Well, I call them Macbrayne’s pigeons.”
“Are we going ashore here?” said Max eagerly, as they neared the point, about which the swift tide foamed and leaped furiously, the waves causing a deep, low roar to rise as they fretted among the tumbled chaos of rocks.
“I hope not. Eh, Scood?”
“Hope not! Why?”
“Because the sea would knock the boat to pieces. That’s all.”
“Hah!”
Max drew his breath with a low hiss, and gazed sharply from Kenneth to the foaming water they were approaching so swiftly, and now, with the little knowledge he had gained, the lowering mass of rock began to look terribly forbidding, and the birds which flew shrieking away seemed to be uttering cries of warning.
“Hadn’t you better pull the left rein—I mean steer away, if it’s so dangerous?”
“No; I’m going in between those two rocks, close in. Plenty of water now, isn’t there, Scood?”