“How much farther down do you think we shall sink?” she asked, her voice trembling a little.

“Not much farther,” I said.  “I am sure there is firm ground beneath us, but it will not do to move.  If we should fall down, we might not be able to get up again.”

“How glad I am,” she said, “that we are not entirely separated, even if it is only a baby pelican that joins us!”

“Indeed, I am glad!” I said, giving the warm pressure to the pelican’s leg that I would have given to Euphemia’s hand, if I could have reached her.  Euphemia looked up at me so confidently that I could but believe that in some magnetic way that pressure had been transmitted through the bird.

“Do you think they will come back?” she said, directly.

“Oh, yes,” I replied, “there’s no manner of doubt of that.”

“They’ll be dreadfully cross,” she said.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” I replied.  “But it makes very little difference to me whether they are or not.”

“It ought to make a difference to you,” said Euphemia.  “They might injure us very much.”

“If they tried anything of the kind,” I replied, “they’d find it worse for them than for us.”

“That is boasting,” said Euphemia, a little reproachfully, “and it does not sound like you.”

I made no answer to this, and then she asked:—­

“What do you think they will do when they come?”

“I think they will put a plank out here and pull us out.”

Euphemia looked at me an instant, and then her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “it’s dreadful!  You know they couldn’t do it.  Your mind is giving way!”

She sobbed, and I could feel the tremor run through the pelican.

“What do you mean?” I cried, anxiously.  “My mind giving way?”

“Yes—­yes,” she sobbed.  “If you were in your right senses—­you’d never think—­that pelicans could bring a plank.”

I looked at her in astonishment.

“Pelicans!” I exclaimed.  “Did you think I meant the pelicans were coming back?”

“Of course,” she said.  “That’s what I was asking you about.”

“I wasn’t thinking of pelicans at all,” I answered “I was talking of the people in the yacht.”

Euphemia looked at me, and then the little pelican between us began to shake violently as we laughed.

“I know people sometimes do lose their minds when they get into great danger,” she said, apologetically.

“Hello!” came a voice from the water.  “What are you laughing about?”

“Come and see,” I shouted back, “and perhaps you will laugh, too.”

The three men came; they had to wade ashore; and when they came they laughed.  They brought a plank, and with a good deal of trouble they drew us out, but Euphemia would not let go of her leg of the little pelican until she was sure I had a tight hold of mine.