she used her arms she could not get right under without a long, splashing struggle on the surface.
“Why do you wave your legs in the air, Titty?” Roger asked after one of these dives. It was too true. Titty herself knew that long after she had put her head under and was swimming downwards as hard as she could her legs were kicking out of the water altogether.
She went further out, to be nearer the fish, and further from Roger. At last she found the trick of turning her hands so that her arm strokes pulled her down. She found that she could open her eyes easily enough, but that it was like trying to see in a bright green fog. There were no fish to be seen in it. With a great effort she got right down to the bottom. Still there were no fish. She came up puffing, then dived again and again. It was no good. She picked a stone off the bottom to make sure that she had really been there, and came to the top again in a hurry, spluttering and out of breath. There was no doubt about it. The fish could see her coming, and could swim faster than she could. There was nothing for it but fishing rods. She swam in towards the beach holding her stone.
“What have you got?” said Roger.
“A stone,” said Titty. “I got it off the bottom.”
“What sort of a stone?”
“Probably a pearl. Let’s be pearl-divers.”
Cormorants were forgotten, and the able-seaman and the boy were pearl-divers in a moment.
“Don’t let Roger go far out,” called the mate. “I’m off to look after the fire.”
John, too, had left the water, and presently rowed past the pearl-divers on his way to fetch the milk.