She laughed with sudden joyousness.
"What's the joke?" asked her brother.
"I feel like the frog-footman in Alice Through the Looking-glass, 'I shall stay here--on and off--for days, and days'. It's very appropriate to one's wishes."
"Well, we needn't go home," Adrian remarked as he hauled in the small boat cautiously, "I mean we can go back by train, and leave the yawl----"
"Where?"
"Oh, anywhere."
This was not at all explicit, but Crow understood his meaning, which was that they were not bound to sail back to Bell Bay. They could make some port, and, putting the Messenger in safety, return by rail.
"We'll see where we are when the clouds roll by," she answered; "it's not going on, Addie. I believe firmly that we shall have a perfect evening."
Adrian, divesting himself of his oilskins, and his boots--"in case the bally thing sank with him," as he explained, made no answer to his sister's expectations. But about ten minutes after, when he climbed over the counter, his work well done, he repeated that there was any amount of time, and it would be much better fun to go home some other way.
The storm had either dispersed or "gone to America", they thought. It had changed the whole aspect of the scene into a desolate waste of tossing grey sea and driving grey cloud, but there was no more lightning, very little rain, and a mere mutter of far-away thunder.