She had slipped into the weir to tantalize a crab
with the sight of her wriggling toes and so had stepped on a sharp shell
and cut her foot to the bone.
Peter cried amazedly. The shadow of the weir net on her face and body
trembled, but she uttered no slightest sound. It was as if some wild
swan had fallen from the azure.
In falling she had hurt her leg and could not walk. Peter tore the
sleeves from her arms and bound the foot, then bent eagerly and lifted
her out of the weir.
Immediately she hid her cheek in his coat, shivered, set her damp lips
with their flavor of sweet salt, full against his.
Deep-water Peter held her tighter yet. How could he know that here, on
Pull-an'-be-Damned, within a biscuit's toss of the weirs, Cad Sills had
served the same fare to Rackby. He turned and ran, holding her close,
and the tide hissed at his heels like a serpent.
The harbor master, lately returned from evening inspection of the
harbor, heard the rattle of oars under his wharf, and in no great while
he saw Peter advancing with Day limp in his arms.
The sailor brushed past him into the kitchen, and laid the girl down, as
he had laid her mother, northeast and southwest. Rackby at his side
muttered:
"How come you here like this? How come you?"
A fearful misgiving caused him to drop to his knees.
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