However, long before half past nine they were well out to sea and heading down the coast for the famous Blackberry Island.
"I suppose there are blackberries on it," mused Artie, who was always interested in names.
"It used to be a solid tangle of briars and bushes," Larry informed him. "Late years, it's been trimmed up and a stone fireplace built where you can do cooking. And before that, my father used to tell, the finest blackberries in the state was raised there. Big, cultivated ones—some man tried experiments and took the island because nobody could steal his secrets."
Jess wanted to know where he was now.
"Oh, I suspect he died and is buried and forgotten," Larry concluded cheerfully.
It was a hot day with a calm sea. Larry had grumbled at the start that he didn't like the looks of that sea.
"Why, there isn't a ripple on it," Fred said, surprised. "It's as smooth as glass."
"And the color of lead," declared Larry. "If the wind doesn't come up before night, I miss my guess."
Ward had put his lunch box with the others, but Polly detected him taking several looks at it, and once she saw him pinch the corners. Something had to be done to distract his attention, she felt sure.