carried it to the stream, Derek following with Mrs. Machin and Phœbe, eager to see him set out.
"There isn't money enough in Canada to pairsuade me to go oarin' in yon skittish thing," said Newbigging, as the canoe slid into the water. "I've knocked aboot in vessels of all sorts, but I draw the line at eggshells."
"I'd go in a minute," said Phœbe, with a look at Vale.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Machin. "And don't be impident."
At the same moment Hugh McKay pinched her, and Windmill frowned and shook his head.
Derek was already paddling down the stream, enjoying the pleasant feeling that the canoe was conscious of him and responded eagerly to him. All but Mrs. Machin ran before him to the little bridge where they collected to watch him pass beneath. He was getting very fond of them, he thought, as he looked up at their excited, sunburned faces.
"Mr. Vale! Ye can paddle your ain canoe, noo," called Gunn after him.
"Take me next time, Mr. Vale!" cried Phœbe; and shrieked again at a second, severer pinch from Hugh.
He was alone save for a little group of fishing boats in the distance, and a flock of gulls that flew high above him, angelic creatures that beat their silvery wings against the rosy sky.
He paddled close to the shore in the direction of Durras, half hoping to be seen by the Jerrolds. When he guessed that he was opposite their gates he laid his dripping paddle athwart and lit a cigarette.
Scarcely had an ash formed when the figure of Grace Jerrold appeared on the bank above him. Outlined against the sky, and dressed in white, she seemed akin to the shining gulls, and, like them, more of the air than of earth.
