“What is it?” repeated Pat, after looking for a little while in silence at the place where Phil had pointed. “What is it?” he repeated, after a little hesitation. Then his hesitation vanished, and in his usual confident way, he proceeded to account for the foam.
“Sure an it’s the foam,” said he, “an that’s what it is.”
“But there wasn’t any foam a little while ago,” said Phil.
“Deed, thin, an I wor jist thinkin that same,” said Pat, in a candid tone.
The boys stood now for a little while in silence. The low, dull roar increased as they listened, and excited very singular feelings in the minds of both.
“The tide is certainly stronger,” said Phil—“a good deal stronger. I wonder if—if—it’s too strong for us.”
“Niver a bit,” said Pat, shaking off his uneasiness. “Sure an we’ll have no throuble. We’re jist a good bit above the Falls—so we are—an there’s no danger—not the laist in life.”
Again they stopped, and looked, and listened.
And now the foam had increased, the dull roar was perceptibly louder, and its deep cadence reverberated in their inmost hearts, exciting dark apprehensions.
“Deed an I’ll jist tell ye what it is,” cried Pat, suddenly. “It’s no use standin here all day; we must hurry out of this.”