“I don’t know what good a fire would do. Nobody would think that meant anything especial. I wish we could put up a bigger signal of some sort.”
“We haven’t any bigger signal, and if we had, we haven’t any way of raising it any higher than these silly low bushes. I never saw an island so poorly furnished for the accommodation of two young lady Crusoes.”
“I never did, either. I’m going to shout again.”
“Do, if it amuses you, but truly they can’t hear you. It’s too far.”
“What do you think will happen, Patty? Do you suppose we’ll have to stay here all night?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, slowly. “Of course when it’s time for the fair to open, and we’re not there, they’ll miss us; and of course papa will begin a search at once. But the trouble is, Bertha, they’ll never think of searching over here. They’ll look in every other direction, but they’ll never dream that we came out in the boat.”
So the girls sat and waited, growing more and more down-hearted, with that peculiar despondency which accompanies enforced idleness in a desperate situation.
“Look!” cried Patty, suddenly, and startled, Bertha looked where Patty pointed.
Yes, surely, a boat had put out from the shore, and was coming toward them. At least it was headed for the island, though not directly toward where they sat.
“They’re going to land farther down,” cried Patty, excitedly, “come on, Bertha.”