“Oh…stop him!” she cried.
Neely reached for one of the oars that was floating away; he waded a few steps to catch the other oar. But he didn’t even look after Mr. Angel.
“Help me—to get him!” cried Maggie.
“No. He’s dead,” said Neely.
“He’s going out to sea!” she said in horror, and turned to go after him. The mud was too thick; she lost one of her shoes, and the feel of the mud was sickening. She began to swim after Mr. Angel, and in spite of her clothes she went fast, helped by the tide. She came up with him and took hold of his sleeve. A matter of two or three strokes would bring her to the bank and she could get him out of the water.
But a rough hand had seized her by the shoulder and pulled her backward, so that Mr. Angel escaped and went on his way.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Neel
