"You can't possibly go off in such a
storm."
"I can see that no boat could leave the cove now," I replied, "but if I
should be badly wanted I might be able to make my way over there by
land."
"Oh! I hope you won't go," she said. "It is a terrible storm."
Some men were coming towards us, their oilskins slatting in the wind that
sought to tear them from their backs.
"'Tis a hard bit of a blow, sir," said one of them. "It's too bad, for
they is Dicky Jones, as has seven young 'uns, and they says he is mortal
sick. The woman o' he she were bawlin' terrible fer us to go an' fetch
yer, an' we resked it, but now 'tain't no use, for there ain't no boat
could ever get out o' th' cove an' live."
The other man was Sammy, who nodded gravely, in confirmation.
I looked at the raging seas that were now leaping over the little strait
into our cove.
"I'll have to try and get there by land," I said.
"'Tis an awful long ways around," said Sammy. "Not as I says it can't be
done."
"We's fair done with th' long pull we's had," said the messenger. "I
mistrust us men couldn't do it."
"You will stay here and rest," I told him. "I think I will have to try
it."
"You goin' now?" asked Sammy.
"I'll be off in a few minutes."
"Then I goes wid yer, in course," said the sturdy old fellow. "I might be
hinderin' you a bit with th' walkin', 'count o' them long legs o' yourn,
but I knows th' way an' ye'll be safer from gettin' strayed.
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