CHAPTER VII.
THE TWO ORPHANS.
The day was bright and beautiful, there was a fair wind, and The Rolling Stone, bending gently away from the breeze, sailed gayly over the rippling water. Adam was at the helm, and the boys were making themselves comfortable in various parts of the little craft, and enjoying to the utmost the delightful air and the bright sunshine.
“I tell you what it is, boys!” cried Chap, who was stretched at full length on top of the little cabin, relying on Adam to give him notice when the boat was to be put about and the boom would swing around, “do you know I’d be as happy as a king if I felt sure our folks wouldn’t be worried about us?”
“I don’t think we need worry about them,” said Phil, “for that hunting man said he’d be at Sanford before long, and then all our folks will hear from us just as quick as the telegraph can carry word to them.”
“There’s a comfort in that,” said Chap.
And Phœnix suggested that they might as well be as jolly as the law allowed.
Adam made no remark upon the subject. He knew very well that it might take the sportsman a week, or perhaps longer, to reach the point from which he was to send the telegram he carried, but he wisely concluded that it would be of no use to dampen the spirits of his young companions, and that it would be better for all hands that they should be lively and cheerful.
“Look here,” he said, “you boys can be happy as kings, if you like, but you needn’t think you’re goin’ to be lazy. I’m goin’ to teach you how to lend a hand to the sails, and make yourselves useful aboard ship.”
“Lazy?” cried Chap. “Rolling stones are never lazy. Boys,” he exclaimed, struck by a sudden inspiration, “let’s call ourselves ‘The Rolling Stones.’ It’s as good a name for us as it is for the boat, and we expect to roll on till we get home.”