They kept on; however, sailing past some islands, and around others, until more than an hour had passed, and they both concluded that it would be far better to go ashore somewhere and ask directions. They saw a house not far away on the main land, and at once sailed in this direction. The wind still continued very moderate, and though neither Bart nor Pat knew much about navigating a boat, they managed to get along in this breeze without any trouble whatever.
On landing, Pat remained in the boat, while Bart went to the house just mentioned. On his way he crossed the high road which here runs along the shore, winding beautifully around every curve and inlet as it encircles the bay. Bart had some difficulty in rousing the people, for it was yet very early in the morning, and they were all sound asleep. At last, however, he heard sounds of movement inside, and then a man appeared, half dressed, and rubbing his eyes.
“Good morning,” said Bart, pleasantly.
“Morn’n, said the man, with a yawn.
“Can you tell me where I can find Oak Island?”
“Oak Island?” repeated the man, stretching himself with another yawn and looking at Bart,—“Oak Island?”
“Yes,” said Bart; “Oak Island.”
“Why, you ain’t a tryin to walk there, surely!” said the man, in some surprise.
“O, no,” said Bart; “that’s my boat just down there.”
“O,” said the man. “Wal, Oak Island’s jest over there;” and he pointed up the bay farther, in a direction which Bart had not taken at all. “You go straight up about two miles from here, an you’ll hit it. You can’t mistake it. It’s a little island with some oak trees and some stagins.”