Tellef had been thrown farthest up; he pulled John to where he was, and there they lay, panting, while the boat swung and tossed in the sea, a little way out.
“Now we are saved,” said Tellef.
But my, oh, my! how wet they were! They sprang to their feet and ran—up over the Tongue, over mound and marsh; they climbed over fences and waded through thick-growing heather. Now and again they glanced seaward, seeking the boat and the umbrella, but not a scrap of either was to be seen—a fine result from their grand adventure, truly!
“You’d better come into our house to get yourself dry,” said Tellef.
“But the umbrella,” said Johnny.
“Yes—it was as unlucky as it could be,” said Tellef. “Perhaps it is as well not to say anything about the umbrella just at first.”
But no sooner had they come into the little kitchen where Tellef’s mother was roasting coffee over an open fire than John said:
“The worst thing is about the umbrella.”
“About what umbrella?” asked Tellef’s mother.
“Grandmother’s. It blew away.”