Again, as she heard that word, there was in the heart of the oldest girl, a strange warning premonition.
“I think we’d better follow the beach until we come to a road leading into town and go back to the seminary,” she said, addressing Margaret, especially, for she could always depend upon her adopted sister to second her suggestions.
“Aw, I say! Let’s play the game! We said we’d follow the little red feather and it went aboard that old boat. I’d like to take a peek at it.”
They were starting across the beach and toward the water, when Margaret touched Virginia’s arm and whispered, “Look over in the shelter of the cliff. There’s a little old cabin. Maybe the fisherman who owns the boat lives in it.”
“Maybe,” Virg replied, “but it looks to me as though it had been long vacant.”
They reached the little dock, which was sheltered from the pounding surf by a projection of the rocky promintory. Betsy was walking carefully out on the tottering beams and rotting cross boards.
“Watch your step, if you never did before,” she sang out warningly. This caution was not needed for, most carefully the six girls proceeded Virg holding the arm of Sally.
Betsy, ever in the lead, had reached the part of the dock against which the boat was bumping.
Eleanor looked at it curiously. “Is it anchored or tied?” she inquired.
“Anchored, I should say,” Margaret replied. “Don’t you see the rope hanging over the stern and into the water!”