“Summat black, William Jones?”
“Yes. Coming and going. Now it comes, and it’s black; now it goes, and the water looks white where it was. If it isn’t wreck, it’s weed; if it ain’t weed, it’s wreck. And the tide’s flowing, and it’ll go ashore afore night at the Caldron Point, if I wait for it. But I shan’t wait,” he added eagerly. “I’ll go and overhaul it now.”
He looked round suspiciously, and then said, “Matt, did you see any of them coastguard chaps as you come along?”
“No, William Jones.”
“Thought not. They’re up Pencroes way, fooling about; so there’s a chance for a honest man to look arter his living without no questioning. You come along with me, and if it is summat, I’ll gie thee tuppence some o’ these fine days.”
As he turned to go, his eye fell for the first time on her attire.
“What’s this, Matt? What are you doing in your Sunday clothes?”
The girl was at a loss how to reply. She blushed scarlet and hung down her head. Fortunately for her the man was too absorbed in his main object of thought to catechize her further. He only shook his fat head in severe disapprobation, and led the way down to a small creek in the rocks, where a rough coble was rocking, secured by a rusty chain.
“Jump in and take the paddles. I’ll sit astarn and keep watch.”
The girl obeyed and leapt in; but before sitting down she tucked up her dress to her knees to avoid the dirty water in the bottom of the boat. William Jones followed, and pushed off with his hands. Calm as the water was there was a heavy shoreward swell, on which they were immediately uplifted with some danger of being swept back on the rocks; but Matt handled the paddles like one to the manner born, and the boat shot out swiftly on the shining sea.