"She's gone!" exclaimed Toby. "The tide were risin' up and floatin' she off!"
"What shall we do?" asked Charley in dismay. "We can't get off the island without a boat!"
"'Tis a bad fix," confessed Toby. "They's no way o' gettin' off the island without the boat. I'm not knowin' rightly what to do. 'Tis the worst fix I ever were in!"
The snow was now falling heavily, driven in thick, swirling clouds by the gale. Everywhere they looked along the shore, in the vain hope that the boat may have drifted in at some other point, and eagerly they looked out into the drifting clouds of snow in the equally vain hope that it might be seen floating near enough to the shore to be recovered by some means. But nowhere was it to be seen, and the two boys, depressed by a sense of helplessness to extricate themselves from the small, isolated and nearly barren island that had so suddenly become their prison, turned back to the partial protection of their improvised shelter.
Disconsolate, they sat under the lean-to and talked over their dilemma while the snow beyond the fire grew thicker, and the wind shrieked and howled dismally through the trees.
"You thinks 'twere bad when the ship leaves you at Pinch-In Tickle," said Toby finally, "but we're gettin' in a wonderful sight worse fix!"
"Yes," agreed Charley dejectedly, "of all that's happened, this is the worst fix of all."
"All we has to eat," continued Toby, "is half a loaf o' bread, a small bit o' pork and enough tea for one or two days, besides the three geese Dad were sendin' home to Mother."
"Perhaps we can get some game on the island?" suggested Charley.
"No," said Toby, "they's no game here. 'Tis too small an island."