“I expect we’re all wicked for that matter; but we can say our prayers, can’t we?”
“Yes,” said Pauline, and now her lips trembled and the color faded from her cheeks. “Let us say them together.”
“By-and-by,” said Pen. “We needn’t say our prayers yet. It will be some time afore the water will touch us; won’t it, Paulie?”
Pauline knew that the water would come in very quickly. Harry looked full at Pen, and then he nodded his head. He came to Pauline and whispered something in her ear.
“What is it?” she said.
“She’s little,” he said. “She’s quite a baby—not eight yet. I am ten. When the water begins to come in we’ll lift her in our arms and raise her above it; shan’t we?”
“Yes; that is a very good thought,” said Pauline. She looked back again at the rocks. They were smooth as marble; there did not seem to be a possible foothold. She felt a sense of regret that they had not gone to the farther end of the bay, where the rocks were lower and more indented, and where it might be possible for a brave boy and girl to get temporary foothold; but the sea had already reached those rocks and was dashing round them.
“I wish I had thought of it,” said Pauline.
“What about?”
“The rocks—those rocks out there.”