Bob cried: “Why Fitz, the sun’s ’most down! This has been an awful short afternoon.”
“Yes,” the goblin nodded, “and the forenoon was short, too. You must remember we’re moving east very rapidly—running away from the sun, running to meet the night. It’ll be dark soon. I wish we’d sight the coast; it seems to me it’s about time we were doing so.”
“What’s that wavy blue line ahead of us?” Bob inquired.
“I don’t see anything,” Fitz answered.
“I do,” the boy insisted positively. “Give me the glass.”
“It must be land, then,” the goblin suggested.
“It is land!” Bob cried joyfully. “We’re going to be all right, Fitz.”
“I—I hope so,” Fitz made answer; “I hope we’ll make it.”