s, and every joggle brought it nearer to the grip of the current
that was swirling south through the Gouliot. Once caught in the foaming
Race, ten chances to one it would be smashed like an eggshell on some black
outreaching fang of the rocks.

The boy took in all the chances at a glance, and sped off across the narrow
neck to the mainland, tore along the cliff round Pegane and Port a la
Jument, then away past the head of Saut de Juan, and down the cliff-side
to where the black shelves overhang the backwater of the Gouliot.

He shed his guernsey during the safe passage between Jument and Saut de
Juan. The rest of his clothing, one garment all told, he thoughtfully
dropped at the top of the cliff before he took to the shelves. The girl
gathered his things as she ran, and danced excitedly with them in her arms
as she saw his white body launch out from the lowest shelf far away below
her, and go wrestling through the water like a tiny white frog.

They had travelled quicker than the careless boat, and he was well out
among the first writhings of the Race before it came bobbing merrily
towards him. She saw his white arm flash up over the yellow side, and he
hung there panting. Then slowly he worked round to the fat stern, and
hauled himself cautiously on board, and stood and waved a cheerful hand to
her.

Then she saw him pick up a small piece of board from the flooring of the
boat and try to paddle back into the slack water. And she saw, too, that it
was too late. The Race had got hold of the cockleshell, and a piece of
board would never make it let go. Oars might, but there were no oars.

She danced wildly, saw him give up that attempt and paddle boldly out,
instead, into the middle of the coiling waters, saw him turn the
cockleshell's blunt nose straight for the Pass, and stand watchfully
amidships with his board poised to keep her to a true course if that might
be.

The passage of the Race is no easy matter even with oars and strong men's
hands upon them. A cockleshell and a board were but feeble things, and the
girl knew it, and, dancing wildly all the time because she could not stand
still, looked each second to see the tiny craft flung aside and cracked on
the jagged rocks.

But, with a great raking pull here, and a mighty sweep there, kneeling now,
and now standing with one foot braced against the side for leverage, the
boy managed in some marvellous way to keep his cockleshell in midstream.
The girl watched