“If the storm keeps up,” said Allan, “we shall have to spend the night here, and we might as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible.” They carried up some boxes from the cellar and McConnell found an old rocker upstairs.
“The Captain, being wounded, has the rocker,” declared Owen.
“They clambered up to the old house.”
“The Captain doesn’t want to be babied,” said Allan. “The Captain will be as good as any of the crew in another hour.”
The prediction almost seemed to come true. Later in the afternoon, Allan insisted on going down with Owen and McConnell to make things more secure on the Arabella, and to carry up the cameras, further supplies of food, and the three blankets. They couldn’t reach home before dark unless with a fair wind and smooth water, and tide, wind, and water were all against them now, not to speak of the rain which continued until after dark.
Thus it happened that they passed the night in the old house, the blankets folded up for beds. When he awoke in the morning, Allan caught sight of Owen in a far corner photographing the room and the sleepers.
“Keep still!” whispered Owen. “Let me surprise McConnell by and by, anyway.”
Their breakfast exhausted the resources of the commissary department. “You see,” said Owen, “we didn’t expect to be away until to-day, did we?”
“We’ll be late for church,” chuckled McConnell.