"I can touch bottom, Tommy, I thought I was sinking, but it isn't over our heads at all. We must be near shore."
Tommy put his feet down gingerly. He had hated to think of the untold fathoms beneath him—depths which in his imagination were strewn with shipwrecks and the bones of lost mariners.
So when his feet came in contact with good firm sand, he giggled hysterically.
"Gee, but it feels good," he said. "Are you all right, Judy?"
But Judy had waded in and dropped exhausted on the beach.
"I don't know," she said, feebly, "I guess so."
"Where are we?" asked Tommy, splashing his way to her side.
He surveyed the land around them. In the moonlight it showed nothing but wide beach and back of that stiff rustling sea-grass and mounds of sand like the graves of sailors dead and gone. Not a house was in sight—not a sign of life.
"I don't know where we are," Judy raised her head for a second, then dropped it back, "but we are safe, Tommy Tolliver, and that's something to be thankful for.
"I knew the sea wouldn't hurt me," she went on—a little wildly, perhaps, which was excusable after the danger she had escaped. "I knew it wouldn't hurt me."