“What’s that for, Cal?” asked Dick, whose nautical instincts were offended by the manœuvre.
“To save trouble,” Cal answered. “You see this is a considerable little bay, and the entrance to it is so very narrow that before much of a flood tide can run into the broad basin the time comes for it to turn and run out again, so there is never a rise and fall of more than six or eight inches in here. The boat will lie comfortably where she is so long as we choose to stay here. We can reach her without much if any wading, and we can shove her off into deep water whenever we like.”
“Is there a spring about here?” asked Tom, whose concern about water supply had become specially active.
“No, but we can make one in fifteen minutes.”
Then selecting a sort of depression in the sandy beach about sixty yards from the water’s edge, Cal said:
“We have only to scoop out a basin in the sand here—about three feet deep as I reckon it, and we’ll have all the water we want.”
“But will it be good water?”
“Perfectly good. You see, Tom, this beach is composed of clean white sand. The water in the bay sipes through it at a uniform level, and we’ve only to dig down to that level in order to get at it.”
“But won’t it be salt water?”