"What time do we start, Andy?" asked Jill, looking with pride at the sturdy little fishing-boat that was going to take them on their adventure. Its brown sail was now furled—but to-morrow it would fly in the breeze, and drive the boat over the blue-green sea for miles.
"Be down here at half-past six," said Andy. "I reckon we'll be at the island by about three in the afternoon then."
The three children could hardly sleep that night. Mary and Jill kept calling out to Tom, and at last their mother came up to them, very angry.
"Now, if I hear one more, shout, I shall forbid you to go to-morrow," she said. "You will have to be up at six o'clock—and it's nearly half-past ten now. Go to sleep."
The children were so afraid that their mother really would forbid them to go that they said not a word more. They turned on their sides and fell asleep.
At six o'clock all three — were dressing hurriedly. It was a magnificent day. The eastern sky was glowing red at dawn, and was now pink and gold. The sun was already warm on their faces as they looked out of the little cottage window.
Their mother was awake. The children kissed her good-bye and ran down the rocky path to the beach. Andy was already there—but to the children's surprise he looked rather grave.
"I'm thinking we shouldn't go," he said, as soon as he saw the children.
"Andy! Whatever do you mean?" they cried.
"Maybe you didn't see the sky this morning?" said Andy. "It was as red as the geranium in our window. It was a right queer sky—and I'm thinking a storm will blow up to-day or to-morrow."