“Suppose—suppose there is somebody on that island?” quavered Dot.
“Wouldn’t be any harm in that.”
“Or something to hurt us? A big, big——”
“Turtle,” finished Tess practically. “That Mr. Methuselah didn’t really hurt you, Dot, if he did start to run off with you. You can look where you are sitting, next time, can’t you?”
“Well, I hope Neale O’Neil or somebody will come after us,” sighed Dot.
Suddenly Tess became very thoughtful. She exclaimed:
“Why, they won’t know we are in this boat at all! They can’t see us over the sides. Here, Dot! You take this steer-a-ma-jig.”
“I don’t believe, Tess Kenway, that does any good,” said Dot. “The boat goes just where it wants to, anyway.”
This very sensible statement rather annoyed Tess. But she was in earnest. She found a boathook and hurried to remove her skirt, which was plaid with much red in it. This she fastened to the rusty hook and set it up in the stern of the Isobel. As a flag of distress it was a good deal better than nothing.
Then Tess went back to the steering wheel. She did not, herself, see that what she did to it made any difference; but one must do something. She looked ahead at the island which the bow of the motor-boat was aimed for. The current that had seized the drifting boat undoubtedly laved the shore of this island, which was not, as Tess could see, half the size of Palm Island. There was a goodly group of palm trees on it, but the white beach, as far as the little girls could see it, was very narrow.