"O Lard, save my lad!" he cried. "O Lard, save my wee lad!"
He saw the punt draw near the first mooring; saw Bobby loose the sheet, and let the brown sail flutter like a flag in the wind; saw him leap to the bow, and lean over, with a knife in his hand, while the boat tossed in the lop, shipping water every moment; saw him stagger amidships, bail like mad, snatch up the oars, pull to the second mooring and cut the last net-rope; saw him leap from seat to seat to the stem, grasp the tiller, haul taut the sheet, and stand off to the open sea.
"Clever Bobby!" he screamed, wildly excited. "Clever lad! My partner, my little partner!"
But the wind carried the cry away. Bobby did not hear—did not know, even, that his partner had been a spectator of his brave faithfulness. He was beating out, to make sea-room for the run with the wind to harbour; and the boat was dipping her gunwale in a way that kept every faculty alert to keep her afloat. Eli watched him until he rounded and stood in for the tickle. Then the man sighed happily and went home.
"Us'll grapple for that net the morrow," he said, when Bobby came in.
Bobby opened his eyes. "Aye?" he said. "'Tis safe on the bottom. I thought I'd best cut it adrift t' save it."
"I seed you," said Eli, "from the Knob. 'Twas well done, lad! You're a true partner."
"The knife come in handy," said Bobby, smiling. "'Tis a good knife."
"Aye," said Eli, with a shake of the head. "I bought un for a good one."