“What is your husband doing with the raft?” asked Maskull.
“He’s putting it in position and we shall wade out and join it,” she answered, in her low-toned voice.
“But how shall we make the island, without oars or sails?”
“Don’t you see that current running away from land? See, he is approaching it. That will take us straight there.”
“But how can you get back?”
“There is a way; but we need not think of that today.”
“Why shouldn’t I come too?” demanded the eldest boy.
“Because the raft won’t carry three. Maskull is a heavy man.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the boy. “I know where there is wood for another raft. As soon as you have gone, I shall set to work.”
Polecrab had by this time manoeuvred his flimsy craft to the position he desired, within a few yards of the current, which at that point made a sharp bend from the east. He shouted out some words to his wife and Maskull. Gleameil kissed her children convulsively, and broke down a little. The eldest boy bit his lip till it bled, and tears glistened in his eyes; but the younger children stared wide-eyed, and displayed no emotion.