arrived. We could not see his face very clearly, for he wore a grey
slouch-hat, and the brambles were so high just there that sometimes
they hid him from us. He seemed, somehow, a familiar figure; and the
thought flashed through me that it might be Mr Gorsuch.

"Come on, Hugh," I cried, "or she'll capsize on the shale. The water's
very shallow, so close up to this side."

We began to run as well as we could, over the broken stones.

"It's no good," said Hugh. "She'll be there before we are."

We broke through a brake of brambles to a green space sloping to the
flood. There was the _Snail_, drawn up, high and dry, on to the
grass, and there was the man, sitting by her on a stone, solemnly
cutting up enough tobacco for a pipe.

"Good morning, Mr Gorsuch," I said.

"Why, it's young sweethearter," he answered. "Why haven't you got your
nurses with you?" He filled his pipe and lighted it, watching us with
a sort of quizzical interest, but making no attempt to shake hands. He
made me feel that he was glad to see us; but that nothing would make
him show it. "What d'ye call this thing?" he asked, pointing with his
toe to the _Snail_.

"That's our ship," said Hugh.

"Is it?" he asked contemptuously. "I thought it was your mother's
pudding-box, with some of baby's bedclothes on it. That's what I