"Wha—what's a offling?" she demanded. "We're orphans—Ruthie, and Aggie, and Tess, and me. So's Mr. Luke and Cecile. And so's Neale O'Neil," she added thoughtfully. "Is an offling like an orphan?"
"Keep still!" hissed the boy. "They're nearer."
"Who's nearer?"
"Shall I make 'em heave to when they come near 'nough, or shall we let 'em go on and give chase?"
"Goodness me, Sammy!" cried Dot, greatly puzzled. "You'd better come right down here. If anybody's coming we don't want to get into trouble. You know we didn't ask the man if we could come into this boat, and perhaps he don't like pirates."
This idea appealed to Sammy, too, as the mules and the little company with them drew near. He slipped over the edge of the hatchway and came down the ladder.
Overhead a threatening black cloud had obscured the sun. Thunder muttered in the distance. A tempest would probably break soon and neither Sammy nor Dot liked thunder and lightning.
"And we didn't bring any umbrella, Sammy Pinkney!" gasped Dot.
"Aw, we won't need one down here. We'll be dry enough," the boy declared.
Just then a drawling voice said: "Lowise, you better pull over that hatch right smart. It's agoin' to pour cats and dogs in a minute."