Ah! I shall have to go with you, boys, some day, and show you a few of the grand sights you pass over because they are so small, and which you call nothing.

Why, how high the tide has risen!" "Didn't we leave the boat just beyond those rocks, sir ?" said Bigley.
"Yes," said my father.

"One of you will be obliged to strip and wade out to it.

No, it couldn't have been those rocks." "No, sir," said Bob Chowne; "it was round on the other side of this heap." He pointed to a mass of rock lying right in the centre of the embayment, a heap which cut off our view on one side.
"I suppose you must be right, Chowne," said my father; "come along." "I feel sure it was here, father," I said; "just out here." "No it wasn't," cried Bob pettishly.

"I remember coming round here after we left the boat." Bigley and I looked at each other, but we said nothing, only followed my father and Bob Chowne as they went round to the other side of the pile of rock, and there lay the sea before us with the tide racing in, and sweeping over the rocks, but no boat.
"It's very strange," said my father; "we must have left it in one of these places." "Perhaps it was behind the other heap, sir," said Bob eagerly.
"What heap ?" said my father.
"That one, sir," said Bob, pointing towards the west.
"Impossible!" cried my father, and then he stopped and waited, while Bigley, who had, by getting on my back and shoulders, managed to climb up the highest part of the mass which stood like an island out of the stones and sand, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked all round.
It was so still that the lapping of the evening tide sounded quite loud, and the querulous call of a gull that swept by was quite startling.
"Well," said my father, "can you see the boat?
No no, don't look out there, my lad, look in here close." "She isn't in here close," said Bigley quietly.
"She must be, Big," cried Bob.