“Yes, I see it—Rollo!”
“Well, that is George’s Island. There is a rock lying just about south of it.”
“Yes,” said Rollo’s mother, “I believe I see it,” beckoning at the same time to Rollo.
Her mind was evidently occupied with watching Rollo. She looked first at the rock and island, where Mr. Holiday was pointing, and then back at Rollo, until at length Mr. Holiday, perceiving that her mind was disturbed by Rollo’s motions, said to him,
“Rollo, keep outside of us.”
“Outside, father!” said Rollo; “how do you mean?”
“Why, farther back from the brink than we are.”
So Rollo walked reluctantly back until he was at about the same distance from the brink with his father, and then began to take up some little stones, and throw them over. His father and mother went on talking, though Rollo’s stones disturbed them a little. At length, Rollo came and stood near his father to hear what he was saying about a large ship which was just coming into view behind the island.
As he stood there, he kept pressing forward to get as near to the brink as he could, without actually going before his father and mother. She instinctively put out her hand to hold him back, and was evidently so uneasy, that Mr. Holiday looked to see what was the matter. Rollo had pressed forward so as to be a very little in advance of his father, though it was only very little indeed.
“Rollo,” said his father, “go and sit in the carryall until we come.”