"They're out—Pa—and—Will."
He said it very quietly then.
"That's why I'm here."
"How can we—get them—back?"
"Oh, little girl;" he muttered. "Little girl—"
"How, Mister; how?"
"I'll get a boat."
"There's Sam Wilkins' smack—down there at the wharf. We could take that."
"Then—I'll go—after them."
They went from the door together down the street and out onto the back patch of the wharf. Through the grayness they could see the boat rocking on the water at the farther end. The wail of the rising wind; the pounding of the sea; and close to them the muffled, bumping sound of the smack thrown again and again at the long wooden piles of the wharf.