It was Loo Barebone sitting on the gunwale as he always sat, with one knee raised on the thwart, to support his elbow, and his chin in the palm of his hand, so that he could glance up the head of the sail or ahead, without needing to change his position.
Sep turned and looked up at her.
"I thought you said he was never coming back," he said, reproachfully.
"So I did.

I thought he was never coming back." Sep looked at her again, and then at the boat.

One never knows how much children, and dogs--who live daily with human beings--understand.
"Your face is very red," he observed.

"That comes from telling untruths." "It comes from the cold wind," replied Miriam, with an odd, breathless laugh.
"If we do not go home, he will be there before us," said Sep, gravely.
"He will make one tack across to the other side, and then make the mouth of the creek." They turned and walked, side by side, on the top of the sea-wall toward the rectory.

Their figures must have been outlined against the sky, for any watching from the river.