"What do you mean?" cried Hilda, utterly bewildered by these nautical directions.
"You little idiot, don't tug so hard! You'll be running us into the buoy. Look here! you can't steer. Just drop these lines. I'd better ship the oars and hoist the sail, and then I can take the tiller myself. There's a stiffish breeze; I can tack her round, you'll see, if I've no one interfering. Now let me get my bearings."
"Are you sure you know how?" asked Belle uneasily.
"Haven't I watched old Jordan do it a hundred times?" declared Charlie. "I'll soon have the canvas up. I say, look out there! The blooming thing's heavier than I thought."
"Oh, do be careful!" entreated Belle, as the sail went up in a very peculiar fashion, and beginning to fill with the breeze sent the boat heeling sharply over.
"She'll be perfectly right if I slack out. The wind's on our beam," replied Charlie; "I must get her a-lee."
"You're going to upset us!" exclaimed Belle, for the sail was flapping about in such a wild and unsteady manner as seemed to threaten to overturn the little vessel.
"Not if I make this taut," cried Charlie, hauling away with all his strength.—"Hilda, that was a near shave!" as the unmanageable canvas, swelling out suddenly, caught her a blow on the side of her head and nearly swept her from the boat.
Hilda gave a shriek of terror and clung wildly to the gunwale.
"O Charlie!" she cried, "take us back. I don't like sailing. I want to go home."