“You? Oh, you can label my specimens and keep the journal; and maybe you might hunt around for fossils a little yourself.”
The raft rapidly moved toward the shore, and the eyes of both of the voyagers were turned toward it inquiringly and eagerly. Who could tell how long the island might be their home, and what strange adventures might befall them there?
“The wind is blowing right on shore, Tilly,” said the Professor. “I will steer straight ahead, and I shouldn’t wonder if we could shoot the breakers safely. Isn’t that a sand-beach right in front there?” inquired the Professor, elevating his nose a little, to get his spectacles in focus. “It looks like one.”
“Yes, it is,” replied Matilda, looking through her glass.
“First-rate! Couldn’t have been better. There, we will drive right in. Tilly, hoist my umbrella, so as to give her more sail!”
The raft fairly danced across the waves under the increased pressure, and in a moment or two it was rolling in the swell just outside of the line of white breakers. Before the Professor had time to think what he should do to avoid the shock, a huge wave uplifted the raft and ran it high upon the beach with such violence as to compel the Professor to turn a somersault over a trunk. He recovered himself at once, and replacing his spectacles he proceeded, with the assistance of Matilda, to pull the raft up beyond the reach of the waves.
Then, wet and draggled, with sand on his coat, and his hat knocked completely out of shape, he stood rubbing his chin with his hand, and thoughtfully observing the breakers.
“Extraordinary force, Tilly, that of the ocean surf,—clear waste, too, apparently. If we stay here long enough, I must try to find out the secret of its motion.”
“Hadn’t we better put on some dry clothing first?” suggested Miss Baffin, “and examine the surf afterwards? For my part I have had enough of it.”
“Certainly! Have you the keys of the trunks? Everything soaking wet, most likely.”