Uncle!" And he clutched convulsively at the hard island of bearded and smiling muscles.

His uncle came up immovable, as though his feet of stone were fastened to the bottom of the ocean.

He was like the nearby promontory that was darkening and chilling the water with its ebony shadow.
Thus would slip by the mornings devoted to fishing and swimming; then in the afternoons there were tramps over the steep shores of the coast.
The _Dotor_ knew the heights of the promontory as well as its depths.
Up the pathways of the wild goat they clambered to its peaks in order to get a view of the Island of Ibiza.

At sunset the distant Balearic Islands appeared like a rose-colored flame rising out of the waves.

At other times the cronies made trips along the water's edge, and the _Triton_ would show his nephew hidden caves into which the Mediterranean was working its way with slow undulations.