“Wait!” he called, and began swimming toward her. She did not come to meet him, but merely ceased swimming and turned on her back to float. And, floating, the tide would carry her on almost as rapidly as if she assisted it. That tide did not need any assistance. Brown swung on his side and settled into the racing stroke, the stroke which had won him cups at the athletic club. He reached her in a time so short that she was surprised into an admiring comment. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “you CAN swim!” He did not thank her for the compliment. There was no time for that, even if he had felt like it. “You shouldn't be here,” he said sharply. She looked at him. “Why, what do you mean?” she demanded. “It isn't safe. A little farther, and the tide would carry you out to sea. Come back, back up to the cove at once.” He expected her to ask more questions, but she did not. Instead she turned and struck out in silence. Against the tide, even there, the pull was tremendous. “Shall I help you?” he asked. “No, I can make it.” And she did. It was his turn to be surprised into admiration. “By Jove!” he panted, as they swung into the quiet water of the cove and stood erect in the shallows, “that was great! You are a good swimmer.” “Thank you,” she answered, breathlessly. “It WAS a tug, wasn't it? Thank you for warning me. Now tell me about the dangerous places, please.” He told her, repeating Seth's tales of the tide's strength. “But it is safe enough here?” she asked. “Oh, yes! perfectly safe anywhere this side of the narrow part--the creek.” “I'm so glad. This water is glorious, and I began to be afraid I should have to give it up.” “The creek, and even the bay itself are safe enough at flood,” he went on. “I often go there then. When the tide is coming in it is all right even for--” He paused. She finished the sentence for him. “Even for a girl, you were going to say.” She waded forward to where the shoal ended and the deeper part began. There she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I'm going to that beach over there,” she said, pointing across the cove. “Do you want to race?” Without waiting to see whether he did or not, she struck out for the beach. And, without stopping to consider why he did it, the young man followed her. The race was not so one-sided. Brown won it by some yards, but he had to work hard. His competitor did not give up when she found herself falling behind, but was game to the end. “Well,” she gasped, “you beat me, didn't you? I never could get that side stroke, and it's ever so much faster.” “It's simple enough. Just a knack. I'll teach you if you like.” “Will you? That's splendid.” “You are the strongest swimmer, Miss Graham, for a girl, that I ever saw. You must have practiced a great deal.” “Yes, Horace--my brother--taught me. He is a splendid swimmer, one of the very best.” “Horace Graham? Why, you don't mean Horace Graham of the Harvard Athletic?”