“Now don’t sneer. Listen. They’d took my measure afore, and they put me in my new suit, brass buttons and everything complete, and a new tie and collars standing to my ears--and a box-hat curling at the sides like the waves of the ocean--and then they told me to walk this way, please sir! So I walked, and what should I see but a gentleman stately as a dook coming towards me, and I took off my hat and said, Your servant, sir! and would have stepped aside. Will you believe me, Kate! it was just myself in a great cheval glass, as they call it. You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you?--if only to see me in my new suit. I do believe you’ll fall down and worship me, and I shall smile down at you and say, Holloa! is that my good friend Kitty Alone? And you’ll say, Your very humble servant, sir!” “That I shall never do, Mr. Pennyfare,” laughed Kate, and then, becoming grave, immediately said, “Do pull instead of talking nonsense. We are drifting; look over your shoulder.” “So we are. There is Coombe Cellars light, right away up stream.” “The wind and stream are against us. Pull hard.” Jan Pooke now recognised that he must use his best exertions. “Hang it!” said he, watching the light; “I don’t want to be carried out to sea.” “Nor do I. That would be a dear penn’orth.” Pooke pulled vigorously; looked over his shoulder again and said, “Kate, give up your place to me. I’m worth more than you and me together with one oar apiece.” She moved the rowlock pins, and Jan took her place with two oars; but the time occupied in effecting the change entailed loss of way, and the boat swept fast down the estuary. “This is more than a joke,” said Pooke; “we are down opposite Shaldon. I can see the Teignmouth lights. We shall never get across like this.” “We must.” “The tide tears between the end of the Den and the farther shore like a mill-race.” “We must cross or run aground.” “Kate, can you see the breakers over the bar?” “No, but I can hear them. They are nothing now, as wind and tide are running off shore. When the tide turns then there will be a roar.” “I believe we are being carried out. Thunder! I’m not going to be swept into Kingdom Come without having put on box-hat and new suit, and cut a figure here.” The wind poured down the trough of the Teign valley with such force, that in one blast it seemed to catch the boat and drive it, as it might take up a leaf and send it flying over the surface of a hard road. The waves were dancing, foaming, uttering their voices about the rocks of the Ness, mumbling and muttering on the bar. If the boat in the darkness were to get into the throat of the current, it would be sucked and carried into the turbulent sea; it might, however, get on the bar and be buffeted and broken by the waves. “Take an oar,” said Pooke; “we must bring her head round. If we can run behind the Den, we shall be in still water.” “Or mud,” said Kate, seating herself to pull. “Anything but to be carried out to sea.”