The snow left off at last, and the sky cleared a little, but the wind kept up and blew from the same quarter. Just at grey daylight in the morning Ritchie threw off his tarpaulin and sat up, looking dazed for a moment or two.
“My dear young sir, I’m ashamed of myself,” he said, looking at his watch; “but where in the world are we?”
“No where that I know of; it has been blowing and snowing all night long, and now we’re close under some wooded cliffs, and the other boats are not in sight.”
“This is bad,” said Ritchie.
I had taken off my jacket, and was wringing the sleeves when Jill appeared.
“I’m as fresh as a daisy,” he said; “but what a time I must have slept! Are we nearly at Sandy Point?”
We laughed.
“Sandy Point, my dear sir; you won’t see Sandy Point for a week if it keeps on like this.”
“Well, we’ll have breakfast, I suppose. I could eat a hunter.”
“Good sign. We’ll all join you.”