Bertie, however, lay quite still, his face as white as death, his eyes fixed with terrified intensity upon the dancing water that was ruffled to-day by a fresh breeze. When the boys pushed out into deep water, he only shivered convulsively, but did not utter a sound. The big lads were rather disappointed. They expected more of a “scene,” and betrayed the nature of their true feelings by trying to add to the child’s silent yet visible terror; for, had they only been actuated by the wish to benefit him, they might surely have dispensed with any such unnecessary demonstration. Queenie and Phil had remained on shore, and the big boys felt themselves entire masters of the situation. “Can you swim, Bertie?” asked Walter. The child shook his head, but said nothing. “Because, you know, you should learn. It would help you better than anything to overcome your foolish terror. Now I’ve heard that there’s nothing like being pitched into deep water at once to teach a fellow to swim, especially when he’s small.” “To be sure that’s the way!” cried Ralph. “I know I read in a book that little niggers were always taught that way. I don’t believe it ever fails.” “We might try, any way,” suggested Bernard, gravely; “and there’s no time like the present. You see, if it should fail, no great harm would be done. People always come up three times before they drown, and we could catch hold of him when he came up if he could not manage to swim. It’s a nice warm day, and I always think the sea is more buoyant when it’s a little rough.” The boat was rocking very much with the combined roughness of the sea and the restlessness of the boys. Bertie could not hold by anything, for the whip-cord resisted his most violent efforts to free himself, and in his terror he fancied every moment that he should be rolled out into the green, terrible water. Of course there was not the least danger of this, but fear knows no laws, and the horror of his position was almost more than the child’s nerves could stand. There was water, too, at the bottom of the boat, and the lapping of the waves against the sides made him certain that it leaked and that they would soon be swamped. But the idea of being thrown overboard was the most awful of all, and he was firmly convinced that his tormentors were quite capable of doing what they proposed. So that when Ralph sprang towards him, making the boat lurch horribly, he was certain his last moment had come, and, uttering a stifled cry, he fell back senseless. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XI. UNCLE FRED.