"He nearly lost 'is life over you," said the stout fisherman. "As plucky
a thing as ever I see. If I 'adn't ha' been 'andy with that there line
you'd both ha' been drownded."

"Give--my love--to everybody," said Blundell, faintly. "Good-bye, Venia.
Good-bye, Mr. Turnbull."

"Where's that barrel?" demanded the stout fisher-man, crisply. "Going
to be all night with it? Now, two of you----"

Mr. Blundell, with a great effort, and assisted by Venia and the
sergeant, sat up. He felt that he had made a good impression, and had no
desire to spoil it by riding the barrel. With one exception, everybody
was regarding him with moist-eyed admiration. The exception's eyes were,
perhaps, the moistest of them all, but admiration had no place in them.

"You're all being made fools of," he said, getting up and stamping. "I
tell you he pushed me over-board for the purpose."

"Oh, father! how can you?" demanded Venia, angrily. "He saved your
life."

"He pushed me in," repeated the farmer. "Told me to look at a jelly-fish
and pushed me in."

"What for?" inquired Sergeant Daly.

"Because--" said Mr. Turnbull. He looked at the unconscious sergeant,
and the words on his lips died away in an inarticulate growl.