She paused on her way down to the water with the empty coffee-pot in her hand, and, looking at the blue current steadily, said:

“I don‘t know about that. I have always had an idea that if I were tossed out into the water, and told to sink or swim, that I should swim. I hate water like a mad dog, but I don’t believe I should sink. Anyhow’, l am going for a row; you may finish the lunch. Come, Silverstray.”

The hound came back from his fruitless race with the rabbit, and watched, with long, graceful head tipped one side, while his small mistress dragged a skiff from a laurel jungle under the bluff, and stepped into it.

Look sharp, now,” said the fisherman. I’1n not so sure that skiff will do to trust. Will you fetch the dog along?”

But the dog refused to take shipping until the canoe had fairly put out, struck the deeper current, and was away, the girl standing erect, her short hair curled like a boy’s about her head, arms bare, shoulders erect. Then it was the Silverstraiy’ repented himself, and set out swimming, beating the water with his long, strong forelegs, trying to overtake the skiff.

When at length he planted those same long feet upon the side of the light craft, the thing went rocking like a cradle upon the deep, still water. She lifted the oars to beat him back, while the water slopped and slushed over the boat’s side with suggestive ferocity.