200 ALONGSHORE iv 



edge of the cliff one o' these fine days when it all 

 falls Into the sea. Pull your right hand oar — back 

 left — easy — now for'ard. . . . That's it. Know 

 where you be to? You're in one o' my private 

 harbours — what the sea's made for me; an' so it 

 will — do ort for 'ee, if you watches; — an' you 

 wants it, I can tell 'ee, up an' down here by your- 

 self. Can always land on these here rocks, in here, 

 this time o' tide, 'cepting when the wind's south- 

 an'-west, an' then you must please to go farther 

 on. Now then !' 



Benjie skipped out of the boat as if he had been 

 going, not to pick up bits of wood, but to catch 

 fish that required smart handling. 



A swell, scattering itself upon the rocks in 

 white foam and spray, had taken charge of the 

 boat and had tilted rather than driven us into a 

 quiet rock-pool, where the water, thick with sea- 

 weed, simply rose and fell as the seas outside 

 forced their way in between the boulders around. 

 Benjie's directions were: 'You row down to 

 Refuge Cove while I goes along an' gathers up 

 what's there. An' you'd better get out o' this 

 quick unless you wants to be stuck here till the 

 tide flows. It's still got a bit to fall. That's the 

 only bad thing about my harbours — they'm very 



