We're runnin' into the aidge of a hot wave naow, an' I can smell the bayberries.

Wonder if we'll get in fer supper.

Port a trifle." The hesitating sails flapped and lurched in the close air as the deep smoothed out, blue and oily, round them.

When they whistled for a wind only the rain came in spiky rods, bubbling and drumming, and behind the rain the thunder and the lightning of mid-August.

They lay on the deck with bare feet and arms, telling one another what they would order at their first meal ashore; for now the land was in plain sight.