all the time she kept whisperin' to me, 'Suppose I was to die
now, where'd I wake up?' That's a fact, Henry! Your mother was terribly
frightened of hell. An' even when she got over that, she was always
wonderin' if it was safe to go to a theatre. She'd imagine the place was
sure to go on fire, an' then she'd be burned alive or get crushed to
death or somethin' like that. I nearly felt scared myself, the way she
went on! I wish you weren't so nervous, Henry!"

They were at Cushendall when Mr. Quinn said this. They had ridden over
on bicycles intent on a day's picnic by the sea, and soon after they had
arrived, Mr. Quinn itched to be in the water. They had stripped on the
beach, and clambered over the rocks to a place where a deep, broad pool
was separated from the Irish Sea by a thick wedge of rock, covered by
long, yellow sea-weed. There was a swell on the sea, and so Mr. Quinn
decided to swim in the pool. "This is a good place for a dive," he said,
standing on the edge of the flat rock and looking down into the deep
pool, and then he put his hands above his head and, bending forward,
dived down into the water so finely that there was hardly any splash. He
came up, puffing and blowing, shaking the water from his eyes and hair,
and swam up and down the pool, now on his back, now on his side, and
then suddenly with a shout he would curl himself up and dive and swim
beneath the water, and again come up, red and shiny and puffing and
blowing and shouting, "Aw, that's grand! Aw, that's grand!" He could
stand on his hands in the water and turn somersaults and find pennies on
the sandy bottom. He loved all sport, but the sport that he loved best
was swimming. He liked to sit on a rock and let great waves come and hit
him hearty thumps in the back. He liked to bury his face in the water.
He liked the feel of the water on his body. He liked to stand up in the
sunshine and watch the drops of water glistening on his body. He liked
to lie on the sea-weed or the sand after his swim and let the sun dry
him. "It's great health, this!" he would say, kicking and splashing in
the sea.

"Come on," he shouted to Henry, after he had dived.

Henry was sitting on the sea-weed, with his arms clutched tightly round
his shins, shivering a little in the wind.

"You'll catch your death of cold if you sit there instead of jumpin'
in," his father called to him. "Dive, man! That's a grand place!"

Henry stood up ... and then turned away from the