“If there is nobody on the Thimble now, there has been somebody there recently,” he declared. “I’m going to drop the sail and run in there. Stand by with the oars to fend off, girls. We don’t want to scratch the catboat more than we can help.”
His sister and Ruth sprang to obey him. Each with an oar stood at either rail and the big sail came down on the run. But the Jennie S. had headway sufficient to bring her straight into the opening between the ledges.
Tom ran forward, seized the rope in the bow, and leaped ashore, carrying the coil of the painter with him. Helen and Ruth succeeded in stopping the boat’s headway with the oars, and the craft lay gently rocking in the natural dock, without having scraped her paint an atom.
“A fine landing!” exclaimed Tom, taking a turn or two with the rope about a knob of rock.
“Yes, indeed,” returned Ruth. She gave a look around. “My, what a lonely spot!”
“It is lonely,” the youth answered. “Kind of a Robinson Crusoe place,” and he gave a short laugh.
“Listen!” cried Ruth, and held up her hand as a warning.
“What did you hear, Ruth?”
“I thought I heard somebody talking, or calling.”
“You did?” Tom listened intently. “I don’t hear anything.” He listened again. “Yes, I do! Where did it come from?”