'He joins hands. We say, "Browny-Matey," and it 's done.'
She splashed, crying 'Swim,' and after two strokes, 'You want to beat me,
Matey Weyburn.'
'How?'
'Not fair!'
'Say what.'
'Take my breath. But, yes! we'll be happy in our own way. We 're sea- birds. We 've said adieu to land. Not to one another. We shall be friends?'
'Always.'
'This is going to last?'
'Ever so long.'
They had a spell of steady swimming, companionship to inspirit it. Browny was allowed place a little foremost, and she guessed not wherefore, in her flattered emulation.