“Yes, Ma— yes, Jack,” cried Abel, checking himself; and then meaningly, as he glanced at Bart, “you’re a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”
“Ay,” cried Bart, excitedly, “a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”
“Hurroo!” cried Dinny. “Howlt still, my lad, and I’ll soon be through.”
And the boat sped onward toward the west.
The island was found just as the Irishman had foretold, and as evening approached, without having even sighted a sail on their way, the little boat began coasting along, its occupants eagerly scanning the low, rock-reefed shore, above which waved a luxuriant tropic growth, but for some time no landing-place was found, while, though the sea was calm, there was a heavy swell to curl up and break upon the various reefs in a way that would have swamped their craft had they attempted to land.
The last fetter had been laboriously sawn through, Dinny having persisted in continuing the task, and he now sat resting and watching the shore with a critical eye.
All at once, upon sailing round a jagged point to which they had to give a wide berth on account of the fierce race which swept and eddied among the rocks, a pleasantly-wooded little bay opened out before them with a smooth sandy shore where the waves just creamed and glistened in the sun.
“Look at that, now,” said Dinny. “That’s where we landed; but I was ashleep after pulling a long time at the oar, and I disremembered all about where we went ashore.”
“How beautiful!” said Jack, gazing thoughtfully at the glorious scene, and asking herself whether that was to be her future home.
“An’ d’yer caal that beautiful?” said Dinny, contemptuously. “Young man, did ye iver see Dublin Bay?”