The trip was longer than at first predicted, but they finally reached the little yacht and were able to lie alongside. “What’s wrong?” inquired Mr. Danforth of the first one who appeared.
“Oh, we’re all broken up by the gale. We started for a place called Bellingly, but we weren’t sure of our bearings, and put for this cove when we saw the storm brewing; but we’re terribly battered to pieces and have lost our mast, so we are, strictly speaking, all at sea. Hallo! I’m blest if it isn’t Baz Phillips, by all that’s lucky!” as a flash of the lantern disclosed the faces of the boys.
“Why, hallo, Walter! It’s my cousin, Walter Dixon, Mr. Dan. Who’s with you, Walt?”
“Ned Carew and our skipper.”
“Well, I’ll come aboard and see what can be done,” said Mr. Danforth. “Two of you pile in here, and the boys can take you up to the house.” The boys, however, protested at being left out of such an experience as boarding a possible derelict, and Walter insisted on remaining with the others.
“We’re about as wet as we can be,” the latter said. “Everything is drenched, and we are hungry as hunters. We counted on getting ashore in time for supper.”
“What are you doing down this way, anyhow?” inquired Basil.
“Why, we were coming to see you.”
Basil laughed. “Well, that’s a joke, my storm-tossed mariner! However, you’re all right now.” And not long after the visitors were taken in under Mrs. Chamberlaine’s hospitable roof, their clothing dried, and a hot supper provided for them.
“I’ll tell you it was a shaky business,” remarked Ned Carew, “when we were being battered around by the wind, not knowing what minute we might be dashed into another vessel or be sent out into the open bay. The anchor didn’t seem of any use at all, although I suppose it was.”