And now they had permission to go off in the sailing-boat belonging to Andy's father, and spend the night on the island! It would be the greatest adventure of their lives.
On Thursday, the three children tired themselves out taking food, rugs, and other things down to the boat. Andy stared in astonishment at the amount of food.
"Are you wanting to feed an army?" he asked. "Six tins of soup—six tins of fruit—tins of tongue—chocolate—Nestle's milk—biscuits—cocoa—sugar—and whatever's this?"
"Oh—that's tinned sausages," said Tom, going rather red. "Old Mrs. MacPherson at the village shop said they were awfully good—so I brought some. Think of cooking sausages in a tin on the Little Island, Andy."
"Tom's mad on sausages," said Jill. "He'd like them for breakfast, dinner, and tea. Look—will these rugs be enough, Andy?"
"Yes," said Andy, looking at the odd collection of old rugs that Jill had managed to get together. "Now mind you all wear warm clothes, too—skirts and jerseys, you girls—and shorts and jersey for you, Tom. You haven't got trousers, have you?"
"No," said Tom sadly. "I don't suppose your father would lend me a pair, would he, Andy?"
"He's only got the one pair, and his Sunday ones," said Andy. "And I've only got the ones I'm wearing. Now are you going to bring the gramophone? We can put it safely in the cabin, if you like."
Tom went back to get it, and soon brought it down to the boat, with a packet of records. He also brought a tin of toffee and a camera.
"I'd like to take some pictures of the birds," he said. "We've got a bird-club at our school, and I guess I could take back some photographs that would beat everyone else's. Golly I Aren't we going to have a fine time!"