d carried like an infant.

"Lie still. Never mind the pony: what is he? I will go for him
afterward. You first, you first of all the world, my Mary."

She tried to speak, but not a word would come; and that was all the
better. She was carried quick as might be through a whirl of tossing
waters, and gently laid upon a pile of kelp; and then Robin Lyth said,
"You are quite safe here, for at least another hour. I will go and get
your pony."

"No, no; you will be knocked to pieces," she cried; for the pony, in the
drift and scud, could scarcely be seen but for his helpless struggles.
But the young man was half way toward him while she spoke, and she knelt
upon the kelp, and clasped her hands.

Now Robin was at home in a matter such as this. He had landed many kegs
in a sea as strong or stronger, and he knew how to deal with the horses
in a surf. There still was a break of almost a fathom in the level of
the inner and the outer waves, for the basin was so large that it could
not fill at once; and so long as this lasted, every roller must comb
over at the entrance, and mainly spend itself. "At least five minutes to
spare," he shouted back, "and there is no such thing as any danger." But
the girl did not believe him.

Rapidly and skillfully he made his way, meeting the larger waves
sideways, and rising at their onset; until he was obliged to swim at
last where the little horse was swimming desperately. The leather,
still jammed in some crevice at the bottom, was jerking his poor chin
downward; his eyes were screwed up like a new-born kitten's, and his
dainty nose looked like a jelly-fish. He thought how sad it was that
he should ever die like this, after all the good works of his life--the
people he had carried, and the chaise that he had drawn, and all his
kindness to mankind. Then he turned his head away to receive the stroke
of grace, which the next wave would administer.

No! He was free. He could turn his honest tail on the sea, which he
always had detested so; he could toss up his nose and blow the filthy
salt out, and sputter back his scorn, while he made off for his life.
So intent was he on this that he never looked twice to make out who his
benefactor was, but gave him just a taste of his hind-foot on the
elbow, in the scuffle of his hurry to be round about and off. "Such is
gratitude!" the smuggler cried; but a clot of salt-water flipped into
his mouth, and closed all cynical outlet. Bearing up against the wav