“Fair wind and tide to you wherever you sail, mates,” the Captain called; and there were tears in the girls’ eyes as they watched the last view of the little shore cottage, and the two figures there at the garden gate, the Captain with the wind blowing back his curly hair, as sturdy, as tall, and as storm-proof as one of the pines up on Bald Mountain.
“Girls, it’s been the happiest summer I’ve ever had,” cried Ruth as she put her head on Polly’s shoulder, and wept.
But Polly laughed in her old cheery way.
“Cheer up,” she said. “It won’t be the last. Turn around, like a good fellow, and wave a salute back at the old flag pole, and to Nancy, bless her.”
So they all stood up in the old carry-all at that last turn in the old shore road, and solemnly, hopefully, lovingly saluted the last glimpse of Lost Island, and the winner of the Junior Cup.