She'll soon be here." When the gig was close enough so that they could wade out to it, Bob and Tim Flynn rolled up their trousers and went through the shallow surf.

The beach gradually shelved at this point and they could wade out nearly a quarter of a mile at low tide.
"She's all right, cap'n!" called the sailor, when he and Bob reached the small craft.

"Sound as a dollar, and the lockers are closed," he added as the boat rolled partly over.
"Good!" cried the commander.

"Pull her in as close as you can and we'll unload her.

Then we'll get her above high-water mark.