It was the tide, of course: but Tom knew nothing of the tide. He
only knew that in a minute more the water, which had been fresh,
turned salt all round him. And then there came a change over him.
He felt as strong, and light, and fresh, as if his veins had run
champagne; and gave, he did not know why, three skips out of the
water, a yard high, and head over heels, just as the salmon do when
they first touch the noble rich salt water, which, as some wise men
tell us, is the mother of all living things.

He did not care now for the tide being against him. The red buoy
was in sight, dancing in the open sea; and to the buoy he would go,
and to it he went. He passed great shoals of bass and mullet,
leaping and rushing in after the shrimps, but he never heeded them,
or they him; and once he passed a great black shining seal, who was
coming in after the mullet. The seal put his head and shoulders
out of water, and stared at him, looking exactly like a fat old
greasy negro with a gray pate. And Tom, instead of being
frightened, said, "How d'ye do, sir; what a beautiful place the sea
is!" And the old seal, instead of trying to bite him, looked at
him with his soft sleepy winking eyes, and said, "Good tide to you,
my little man; are you looking for your brothers and sisters? I
passed them all at play outside."

"Oh, then," said Tom, "I shall have playfellows at last," and he
swam on to the buoy, and got upon it (for he was quite out of
breath) and sat there, and looked round for water-babies: but
there were none to be seen.

The sea-breeze came in freshly with the tide and blew the fog away;