But when the Coquette got around to the side of Gannet Island where the boys’ camp was established, the shadow of the high, wooded ridge was thrown out so far across the lake that the swimming raft and its neighborhood were in darkness.
The catboat, with her sail dropped and her nose just touching the edge of the float, was quite hidden by this shadow of the island, which was all the darker in contrast with the brilliant moonlight lying on the water farther out.
“I’ll carry the kedge to the float,” whispered Polly, “and then we’ll pay out the line till the Coquette floats about over the spot where you think the thing you hit lies.”
“Let’s get my canoe out of the way, too,” urged Wyn. “Oh! I hope the boys will not wake up.”
“What’s that light up there?” exclaimed Polly, suddenly.
“That’s the spark of their campfire. It’s in the rocks, so no harm can come from it; they don’t trouble to cover it when they go to bed.”
“Now, Wyn–push the boat off.”
They worked the catboat from the float for several yards. “Wait,” whispered Wyn. “Let’s try here.”
“Yes. It will make some splash; but I don’t believe I can reach the bottom of the lake otherwise, it is so deep here.”