The words had scarcely passed her lips before Harry darted back. A wave from the incoming tide had rolled over his feet.
Pen uttered a sudden cry:
“I am frightened. I won’t drown. I am awful frightened.”
She began to shriek.
“Try and keep up your courage, darling,” said Pauline. “It won’t be long. It will be quickly over, and I will stay close to you. Paulie will be close to you.”
“Let us get her to stand on our two shoulders, and we’ll lean up against the rocks,” said Harry. “She can steady herself against the rock, and I will support you both. Here, I will hoist her up. Now, missy, you look slippy. That’s it.”
Harry was a very active boy, and he did manage to lift Pen, who was stiff with cold and fright, and miserable with a sense of her own naughtiness, on to Pauline’s and his shoulders. When she was established in that position she was propped up against the rocks.
“Now you are safe,” said Harry, looking back at her and trying to laugh. “We’ll both drown before you. See how safe you are.”
Just for a moment Pen was somewhat consoled by this reflection. But presently a fresh terror seized her. It would be so awful when she was left alone and there was only a dead Pauline and a dead Harry to keep her company. She had never seen anybody die, and had not the least idea what death meant. Her terrors grew worse each moment. She began to cry and whimper miserably, “I wish that boat would come.”
Another wave came in and washed right over both Pauline’s and Harry’s ankles. They were jammed up against the rocks now. This big wave was followed by a second and a third, and soon the children were standing in water very nearly up to their knees.