“We’re getting near the island,” said Amos. “I’ll slide overboard in a minute, and all you girls need do is keep still till I tell you to jump,” and Amos, the painter of the dory in one hand, slipped over the high bow of the boat and struck out for shore. He was a strong swimmer, and managed to change the course of the boat so that it swung in toward the shallow water, and in a few minutes Amos got a foothold on the sand, and pulled strongly on the rope until the boat was well out of the outward sweep of the current.
“Now jump out,” he commanded; “you on one side, Anne, and Amanda on the other, and take hold of the side and help pull the boat ashore.”
The two girls obeyed instantly, and the three dripping children struggled up the beach, pulling the dory beyond reach of the tide.
“We must be sure this boat is safe,” said Amos; “if we can get it up a little further, we can tip it up on one side and crawl under and get out of the rain.”
The codfish, plaice and flounder Amos took out carefully and carried to a large rock further up the beach. “We’ll have to eat those fish if we stay here very long,” he said.
It grew dark early and the children, under the shelter of the boat, peered out at the rushing waves, listened to the wind, and were very glad that they were on shore, even if it was an island and miles away from home.
“Nobody can find us to-night,” said Anne, “but prob’ly to-morrow morning, first thing, my Uncle Enos and your father will take a boat and come sailing right down after us.”
“How will they know where we are?” whimpered Amanda. “We’ll have to stay here always; I know we shall.”
“If we do I’ll build a brush house,” said Amos hopefully, “and there’s lots of beach-plums grow on this island, I’ve heard folks say; and we’ll cook those fish and I’ll bet I can find mussels along the shore.”
“We can’t cook anything,” said Anne, “for we can’t make any fire.”