Old James had built his boat after a south-coast model. She was a dory, a flat-bottomed craft, as distinguished from a punt, which has a round bottom and keel. He was proud of her, but somewhat timid; and he wanted Eli's opinion of her quality.
"'Tis a queer lookin' thing!" said Eli. "But me an' my partner'll try she, James, just for luck."
That afternoon a fall gale caught the dory on the Farthest Grounds—far out beyond the Wolf's Teeth Reef. It came from the shore so suddenly that Eli could not escape it. So it was a beat to harbour, with the wind and sea rising fast. Off the Valley, which is half a mile from the narrows, a gust came out between the hills—came strong and swift. It heeled the dory over—still over—down—down until the water poured in over the gunwale. Eli let go the main-sheet, expecting the sail to fall away from the wind and thus ease the boat. But the line caught in the block. Down went the dory—still down. And of a sudden it capsized.
When Bobby came to the surface, he began frantically to splash the water, momentarily losing strength, breath and self-possession. Eli was waiting for him, with head and shoulders out of the water, like an eager dog as he waits for the stick his master is about to throw. He swam close; but hung off for a moment—until, indeed, he perceived that Bobby would never of himself regain his self-possession—for he did not want the boy to be too soon beholden to him for aid. Then he slipped his hand under Bobby's breast and buoyed him up.
"Partner!" he said, quietly. "Partner!"
Bobby's panic-stricken struggles at once ceased; for he had been used to giving instant obedience to Eli's commands. He looked in Eli's dripping face.
"Easy, partner," said Eli, still quietly. "Strike out, now."
Bobby smiled, and struck out, as directed. In a moment he was swimming at Eli's side.
"Take it easy, lad," Eli continued. "Just take it easy while I rights the boat. It's all right. I'll have you aboard in a jiffy. Is you—is you—all right, Bobby?"