“You don’t really think he’s been—that anything has happened to him, do you?” said Jock, anxiously.
“I hope not.”
“I don’t know what I’d say to his father and mother,” began Jock, again. “And just think of it! When we were counting on such a good time, too, and to have this happen almost at the very beginning! Don’t you think we’d better go over to Ethan’s now and rouse him out? He’d know what to do.”
“I think we’d better wait till it’s light, anyway,” said Bob. “I suppose you’re thinking of sending Ethan with his sailboat to look him up?”
“Yes, that was what was in my mind. You see, Ben may have met with an accident. He may have lost his paddle, or his mast may have been broken. There’s a hundred things I can think of, and if he should be cast away on some island, he wouldn’t be able to get off without help.”
“You don’t know whether to go up the river or down,” said Bert, disconsolately.
“Ben started up the river when he went off,” replied Jock; “but it’s just as likely that he’s been carried down the stream, with the current and the wind both to push him on. Ethan will know what to do, though.”
“He’ll probably go in one direction and Tom in the other,” suggested Bob.
The three boys lapsed into silence, and while no one spoke openly of the great fear in his heart, it was nevertheless evident that a common anxiety had them all in its grasp. Occasionally one would rise and go down to the dock and peer eagerly out over the river, but his failure to discover anything of interest would be betrayed by his silence and gloom when he rejoined his fellows.
The slow hours dragged on and still the heavy-hearted lads waited. The leaves of the trees dripped steadily, and the monotonous sounds served only to deepen the feeling of depression. Try as they would the boys could not shake off their fears, and when at last the first faint streaks of the dawn appeared in the eastern sky, they were so worn by their watching, and the anxiety of the long night, that the coming day brought no relief.