“Pshaw! if we waited for a reason for everything we did, some things would never be done,” returned Tom, philosophically.
“There isn’t a thing there,” declared Helen. “But I don’t care in the least where you sail us, Tom.”
“Only not to Davy Jones’ Locker, Tommy,” laughed Ruth.
“I’ll run out a way, and then come back with the wind and cross in front of the island again,” said Tom, and he performed this feat in a very seamanlike manner.
“I declare! there’s a landing we didn’t see sailing from the other direction,” cried Helen. “See it–between those two ledges?”
“A regular dock; but you couldn’t land there at high tide, or when there was any sea on,” returned her brother.
“That’s the place!” exclaimed Ruth. “See that white thing fluttering again? That’s no seagull.”
“Ruth is right,” gasped Helen. “Oh, Tom! There’s something fluttering there–a handkerchief, is it?”
“Sing out! as loud as ever you can!” commanded the boy, eagerly. “Hail the rock.”
They all three raised their voices. There was no answer. But Tom was pointing the boat’s nose directly for the opening between the sharp ledges.