Then he turned his boat's nose to the north, and pulled through the slack in the direction of Havre Gosselin.
He was edging slowly round Pierre au Norman, where a whip of the current caught him for a moment, when a merry shout carried his chin to his shoulder in time to see, out of the corner of his eye, a small white body flash from a black ledge above the surf into the coiling waters beyond.

He stood up facing the bows and held the boat, till a brown head bobbed up among the writhing coils.

Then a slim white arm with a little brown hand swept the long hair away from a pair of dancing eyes, and the swimmer came slipping through the water like a seal.
But suddenly, some stronger coil of the waters below caught the glancing white limbs.

They sprawled awry from their stroke, a startled look dimmed the dancing eyes with a strain of fear.
"Phil!" And in a moment the boy in the boat had drawn in his oars, and kicked off his shoes, and was ploughing sturdily through the belching coils.
"You're all right, Carette," he cried, as he drove up alongside, and the swimmer grasped hurriedly at his extended arm.

"We've done stiffer bits than this.