The sun was still shining brightly, but, sure enough, one of those showers peculiar to tropical lands was descending, and the wind, too, abated somewhat.
"Thank God," murmured Harvey. "Beth, I'm going to speak to the men."
She grasped him by the arm. "Oh, Harvey, they might arrest you."
"Nonsense, Beth; they don't know how the fire started, and if their houses don't burn, there's no use in telling. You wait here for me."
He was gone only a few minutes, and, when Beth caught sight of his radiant face, she knew the good news before he said a word.
"Beth, they say the houses won't burn. We can go now."
They circled around the woods by the road, and, when they came to the river, walked down the beach to their boat which they found unharmed.
The fish were burned to cinders.
"We don't care, do we, Beth? I couldn't eat them, anyway, after all the trouble they have caused us. It was all their fault. If they hadn't been so foolish as to be caught, there wouldn't have been any fire. But I've built fires a hundred times before and never had anything like this to happen."
Trouble, it is said, never comes singly. When they were once more back in the boat, Harvey found that he had both tide and wind against him, and the river had become very squally. The St. Johns is one of the most treacherous rivers in the world. It takes only a very short time for her waters to become white-capped.