But he was very much afraid, for all that, when, on reaching the beach, he saw his little boy standing on a point of rock that threatened every instant to be covered with the rising water.
"Ralph," he cried, as the fisherman—a tall, stalwart figure in a blue cap and corduroys—came up, "where is your boat?"
"Jack's gone a-fishing in it," said Ralph.
"Heavens! what shall we do?" cried Mr. Beetham. "My boy will be drowned before my very eyes."
"Not if I can help it, sir," said Ralph, throwing off his jacket. "I'm big enough. I'll see if I can't wade to him."
"He'll never reach him," cried Mr. Beetham, running up and down the beach in an agony of anxiety, which was shared by all the by-standers, as the strong man strode on with the water above his waist, and the rock still not reached. It was nearly up to his shoulders before he got to where Willie stood.
"STEADY! STEADY! YOUNG MASTER! I'VE GOT YOU SAFE ENOUGH NOW."
"Steady, steady, young master. Don't be afraid of a wetting, and don't hold on so fast. I've got you safe enough now." And so, half wading, half swimming, the gallant fellow, battling with the great waves that were now rolling in heavily, brought poor Willie, drenched and cold, to land, and laid him in his glad father's arms.
Another minute and the rock had disappeared.