“Ile-Bay.”
“Benny-Bay.”
“Ile-Grigg.”
“Scott’s Haute.”
Such was the medley of cries that arose from all, shouting and yelling at once. While all the time there stood on the shore the man that had come down to meet them; who first had started and stared with amazement,—and who then, recognizing them all, and seeing the masts of the sunken schooner beyond, understood the whole situation, and rejoiced over it accordingly—showing his joy, indeed, in a less noisy and demonstrative manner than theirs, but in a way which was thoroughly characteristic.
For Benny suddenly turned, and started off to the house on a full run. Then he disappeared.
The boat drew nearer, Benny appeared once more.
The boat touched the beach.
At that very instant Benny touched the beach also, and, plunging into the water, began shaking hands with every one of them, in the most violent and vehement manner.
“Come along! Come along! Come right up! Come along! Don’t mind the boat. I’ll see to that. Come along to the house. Blowed if I ever see the likes o’ this in all my born days! Come along!”