She took it and got in. Ernest and the mariner gave a strong shove, and as the light boat took the water the former leaped in, and at the same second a puff of wind caught the sail, and took them ten yards out or more.
“Why, the sailor is left behind!” said Eva.
Ernest gave a twist to the tiller to get the boat’s head straight off shore, and then leisurely looked round. The mariner was standing as they had found him, his hands in his pockets, his pipe in his mouth, his eye fixed upon the deep.
“He doesn’t seem to mind it,” he said, meditatively.
“Yes, but I do; you must go back and fetch him.”
Thus appealed to, Ernest went through some violent manoeuvres with the tiller, without producing any marked effect on the course of the boat, which by this time had got out of the shelter of the cliff, and was bowling along merrily.
“Wait till we get clear of the draught from the cliff, and I will bring her round.”
But when at last they were clear from the draught of the cliff, and he slowly got her head round, lo and behold, the mariner had vanished!
“How unfortunate!” said Ernest, getting her head towards the open sea again; “he has probably gone to his tea.”
Eva tried hard to get angry, but somehow she could not: she only succeeded in laughing.