The sailing-boat simply flew over the water. "We shall be at Little Island before three o'clock if we go on like this," said Andy.
"I'm so hot in the sun," said Jill. She was sheltered where she lay, and felt hardly any wind. "I wish I could be dragged behind the boat on a rope, in the cool water."
The morning slid on. The sun rose higher and higher and at noon it was so hot that every one put on sun-hats. The wind was still strong and whipped the tops from the waves as the boat flew along.
"It's past noon," said Tom. "What about.»
"A spot of lunch!" chanted every one, knowing exactly what Tom was going to say.
"I'm more thirsty than hungry," said Jill. "What are you looking worried about, Andy?"
"Queer colour the sky is getting over yonder," said Andy, nodding his head to the west.
They all looked. "It's sort of coppery," said Tom.
"There's a storm blowing up," said Andy, sniffing the air like a dog. "I can smell it."
Andy always said he could smell a storm, and he was always right. The children looked anxiously towards the west. "Shall we get to the island before it comes?" asked Jill. "A storm is all very well to read about in a book—but I don't really want to be in one out on the open sea."