The Shearwater was an odd little craft, flat on the water, with a long, pointed, covered prow and one large sail. Ruth knew it well, for Mr. Kean was an old friend of the Franklin's, and, in former winters, he had often taken her out.
"My object certainly is to please her," Walter said to himself. "But she does keep one busy. Well, here goes!"
Mr. Kean lent his boat, and presently they were off again.
"Take me as far as the old light-house," Ruth suggested.
"Easy enough going; but the getting back will be another matter," Walter answered. "We should have to tack."
"I like tacking. I insist upon the light-house," Mrs. Chase replied, gayly.
The little boat glided rapidly past the town and San Marco; then turned towards the sea. For the old light-house, an ancient Spanish beacon, was on the ocean side of Anastasia.
"We can see it now. Isn't this far enough?" Walter asked, after a while.
"No; take me to the very door; I've made a vow to go," Ruth declared.
"But at this rate we shall never get back. And when we do, your husband, powerfully hungry for his delayed dinner, will be sharpening the carving-knife on the sea-wall!"