Suddenly a swell lifted us almost off our feet, and we clutched at each other simultaneously.

There was a lesser swell, and little waves began to run, and a sigh went up from the sea.

The tide was turning--perhaps a storm was on the way--and we were miles, dreadful miles from dry land.
Boy and girl turned without a word, four determined bare legs ploughing through the water, four scared eyes straining toward the land.

Through an eternity of toil and fear they kept dumbly on, death at their heels, pride still in their hearts.

At last they reach high-water mark--six hours before full tide.
Each has seen the other afraid, and each rejoices in the knowledge.
But only the boy is sure of his tongue.
"You was scared, warn't you ?" he taunts.
The girl understands so much, and is able to reply:-- "You can schwimmen, I not." "Betcher life I can schwimmen," the other mocks.
And the girl walks off, angry and hurt.
"An' I can walk on my hands," the tormentor calls after her.