“If she couldn’t swim she’d ha’ been trowned,” said Scood oracularly, “for we should have had enough to do to get ashore.”
“Hold your tongue, Scood; and will you leave off calling people she?”
“Where would the boat have come up?” continued Scood.
“Bother! never mind that. There’s plenty of wind now, and we’ll soon race home.”
“But we were in great danger, weren’t we?”
“N–n–no,” said Kenneth cavalierly. “It would have been awkward if the boat had filled, but it didn’t fill. If you come to that, we’re in danger now.”
“Danger now!” cried Max, clutching the side again.
“Yes, of course. If the boat was to sink, I daresay it’s two hundred feet deep here.”
“Oh!”
“But that’s nothing. We’ll take you up Loch Doy. It’s seven hundred and fifty feet up there, and the water looks quite black. Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Kenneth; “and the thought of it makes you look quite white.”