“I don’t want to leave here,” she went on, “but I feel we ought to go. The chances seem small, even if we find that bay; still, I feel we ought to go.”
“I’m feelin’ the same way myself,” said Raft.
“Then we will go and the sooner we start the better.”
“I’m thinking of them porpoises,” said Raft.
“What about them?”
“Well, there’s a saying they hug the shore pretty close if bad weather is coming. It’s fine to-day, but I’ve a feeling there’s going to be another blow soon and maybe we’d better wait till it’s over—maybe it’s instinc’,” he finished, looking round shyly.
The girl laughed. “If you feel like that,” said she, “we had certainly better wait. Maybe the porpoises were sent to tell us.”
“There’s no saying,” replied he. They were seated on the rocks just where she had watched the great battle and far and near the “sea cows” were sunning themselves on the rocks whilst beyond the seal beach the penguins were drilling in long lines. Scarcely a breath of wind stirred and the sea lay calm like a sheet of dim blue glass to where the islands sat beneath the sky of summer.
But the islands had drawn closer since morning and the birds seemed busier than usual and more clamorous. To the eastward where the cliffs rose higher, guillemots had their home on the ledges of basalt and the wheezy bagpipe-like cry of them came in bursts every now and then as though they were angry about something, whilst the cry of the razorbills and the “get-away, get-away” of the kittiwakes had a sharper note. The puffins alone were calm, swimming in coveys on the glassy water and leaving long ripples in their wake.