"We've passed it, Andy says," said Tom gloomily. "We don't know where we are."
"Goodness! Look, the sail's gone!" said Mary, shocked. "What are we to do for a sail?"
"There's an old one down in the cabin," said Andy. "Fetch it, will you—and I'll see if I can do something with it."
The sun shone down again. It was gloriously hot. Poor Tom, who had been chilled to the bone, loved it. He stripped off his wet bathing-suit, and put on his jersey. Ah, that was better!
Andy did not seem to feel either cold or wet. He took the old sail and had a good look at it. He thought he could rig it, with Tom's help. They must have a sail of some sort to get anywhere.
"I've heard my father say there are some desolate, rocky islands up away to the north of Little Island," said Andy, his wet jersey steaming in the hot sunshine. "We'll make for those. Maybe there might be someone there—or we could signal a ship for help. I don't reckon we're going to get home any too easily now."
At last the old sail was flying in the breeze. Andy headed due north. It was about five o'clock now, and all the children were very hungry.
Jill and Mary had forgotten their sea-sickness and went below to get some food. Soon they were, all eating heartily, and felt much better. They drank all the water before Andy knew there was none left.
"We shouldn't have done that," he said. "If we don't strike these islands I'm thinking of, we'll have no water to-morrow. Leave those apples, Mary. We might be glad of the juice in the morning."
Mary had been about to bite into a juicy apple, but she hastily put it down. In silence she and Jill packed the apples away carefully in the cabin. Both the girls felt worried. Whatever would their mother be thinking, when that terrible storm blew up? They wished they were safely back at home.