"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