“Shure it’s a mile wide if it’s a futt,” said one of the men as they stood in a group on the reef, dripping and gazing at the isle.
“No, Simon O’Rook,” said Bob Corkey, in that flat contradictions way to which some men are prone; “no, it’s only half a mile if it’s an inch.”
“You’re wrong, both of you,” said Baldwin Burr, “it ain’t more than quarter of a mile. Quite an easy swim for any of us.”
“Except my Polly,” observed the captain quietly.
“Ay, and those who are too weak to swim,” said Watty Wilkins, with a glance at his friend Ben, who had lain down on the sand and listened with a calm untroubled look to the conversation.
“You don’t seem at all anxious,” whispered Polly to Ben.
“No, Polly, I’m not. I have lately been taught how to trust in God by your example.”
“By mine!” exclaimed the child in extreme surprise.
Before Ben could reply the captain turned and called to Polly.
“Come here, my duckey; Edwin Jack offers to swim over the lagoon to the island with you on his back. Will you trust yourself to him?”