From head to foot he was besmeared with black mud; for the rotten
stern must have parted and fallen with the first touch of the
explosion, so that the wave caught him as he toppled out, and flung
him at once upon the shallows. But Tamsin's Sunday frock was already
ruined. She made him rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one
arm thrown round him for steadiness, led him down the beach, and with
infinite difficulty got him across the mud and into the boat.
[Illustration: With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.]
She managed to push off at last, and pulled rapidly across for Kit's
House. Hitherto Mr. Fogo's condition had slightly resembled a
drunken stupor; but now he shivered violently and looked about him.
"Where am I?"
"Safe and sound, I hope."
He passed his hand over his eyes and shivered again.
"I remember. Something--blew up, did it not? The canister, I
think."
She nodded encouragingly.
"Where did you come from?" he asked abruptly.
"From church."
"Oh! from church. Do you know, I'm very glad to see you--I am,
indeed, I hope you'll come often, now that--Excuse me," he broke off
with a weak smile, "but I fancy I'm talking nonsense."
She nodded again.
"I am aching all over," he added with a shiver.
She pulled the boat up to the little quay.
Pages:
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270