display. Was not it about time gently to reduce her, relegate her to a
more modest position? To achieve which laudable result--he acted, of
course, for her good exclusively--he prepared to broach the subject of
the unaccountable noises which disturbed his rest last night. He would
cross-examine her as to their origin, thereby teasing and perhaps even
discountenancing her somewhat.

But before Tom could put his benevolent scheme into execution, his
attention was unexpectedly diverted, a quite new element projecting
itself upon the scene.

For some little while an open boat, a hoary though still seaworthy tub of
a thing, deep in draught and broad in the beam, loaded up with
lobster-pots--the skeleton ribs of them black against the surrounding
expanse of shining turquoise and pearl--had slowly neared the Bar from
seaward. The bows, in which a small, withered old man bent double over
the oars, cocked up on end. The stern, where a young man stood erect
among the lobster-pots, was low in the water. Now, as the nose of the
boat grounded, the young man clambered along the gunwale, and balancing
for a minute, tall and straight, on the prow, took a flying leap across
the wide intervening space of breaking wave and clear water, alighting on
his feet, upon the firm sand beyond.

"Good for him! Neatly done," Tom Verity murmured, appreciating the grace
and vigour of the action.

The young man, meanwhile, turning, called to the rower: "Thank you
heartily for putting me ashore, Daddy Proud. I'll go across home by the
ferry. But see here, can you manage her by yourself or shall I help shove
her off for you?"