The tide had gone out somewhat, and left the dingey stranded on the dripping sea-weed. The young man seated Murphy on a rock, untied the game-bag and put on his coat, and then in the most matter-of-fact way tramped over the slippery ooze to the boat, pushed it off into the water and towed it around by the chain to the edge of a little cove, whence one might step over its side from a shore of clean, dry sand. He then, still as if it were all a matter of course, lifted Murphy and put him in the bow of the boat, and asked Kate to sit in the stern and steer. “I can talk to you, you know, now that your sitting there,” he said, with his foot on the end of the oar-seat, after she had taken the place indicated. “Oh--wait a minute! We were forgetting the gun and bag.” He ran lightly back to where these things lay upon the strand, and secured them; then, turning, he discovered that Murphy had scrambled over to the middle seat, taken the oars, and pushed the boat off. Suspecting nothing, he walked briskly back to the water’s edge. “Shove her in a little,” he said, “and I’ll hold her while you get back again into the bow. You mustn’t think of rowing, my good man.” But Murphy showed no sign of obedience. He kept his burnt, claw-shaped hands clasped on the motionless, dipped oars, and his eager, bird-like eyes fastened upon the face of his young mistress. As for Kate, she studied the bottom of the boat with intentness, and absently stirred the water over the boat-side with her finger-tips. “Get her in, man! Don’t you hear?” called the stranger, with a shadow of impatience, over the six or seven feet of water which lay between him and the boat. “Or _you_ explain it to him,” he said to Kate; “perhaps he doesn’t understand me--tell him I’m going to row!” In response to this appeal, Kate lifted her head, and hesitatingly opened her lips to speak--but the gaunt old boatman broke in upon her confused silence: “Ah, thin--I understand well enough,” he shouted, excitedly, “an’ I’m thankful to ye, an’ the longest day I live I’ll say a prayer for ye--an’ sure ye’re a foine grand man, every inch of ye, glory be to the Lord--an’ it’s not manny w’u’d ’a’ done what ye did this day--and the blessin’ of the Lord rest an ye; but--” here he suddenly dropped his high shrill, swift-chasing tones, and added in quite another voice--“if it’s the same to you, sir, we’ll go along home as we are.” “What nonsense!” retorted the young man. “My time doesn’t matter in the least--and you’re not fit to row a mile--let alone a long distance.” “It’s not with me fut I’ll be rowin’,” replied Murphy, rounding his back for a sweep of the oars. “Can’t _you_ stop him, Miss--eh--young lady!” the young man implored from the sands.