A woman she was, for a braid
of her hair was flying, and she was just in the act of recapturing it and
stowing it away beneath a hat that for all the world was like his own
"Baden-Powell."
The boat disappeared behind the wave, and rose into view on the face of
the following one. Again he looked into it. The men were dark-skinned,
and larger than Solomon Islanders, but the woman, he could plainly see,
was white. Who she was, and what she was doing there, were thoughts that
drifted vaguely through his consciousness. He was too sick to be vitally
interested, and, besides, he had a half feeling that it was all a dream;
but he noted that the men were resting on their sweeps, while the woman
and the steersman were intently watching the run of seas behind them.
"Good boatmen," was Sheldon's verdict, as he saw the boat leap forward on
the face of a huge breaker, the sweeps plying swiftly to keep her on that
front of the moving mountain of water that raced madly for the shore. It
was well done. Part full of water, the boat was flung upon the beach,
the men springing out and dragging its nose to the gate-posts. Sheldon
had called vainly to the house-boys, who, at the moment, were dosing the
remaining patients in the hospital. He knew he was unable to rise up and
go down the path to meet the newcomers, so he lay back in the steamer-
chair, and watched for ages while they cared for the boat.
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