"Most likely she's a tug what's got blown out to sea," Bob replied as he went into the cabin for a glass; and when he came on deck again the boys waited impatiently to learn what could be seen.
During fully ten minutes the old sailor held the glass to his eyes, while a mystified expression came over his face as he said to Jim:
"Here, take this an' see what you can make out. It puzzles me, for a fact."
"She looks like a tug," the boy said, after gazing at the approaching craft several seconds; "but there's something queer on her bow."
"What about her spars?" Bob asked impatiently.
"She's got two short masts, and—— Why, what's that? She's flying a signal of distress!"
"That's about the size of it," Bob exclaimed as he brought his hand down on the rail with a vigorous slap as if to give emphasis to his words.
"I thought my eyes must be playin' me a trick, so that's why I asked you to look. Her bow has been stove, an' she's workin' up this way for help."
"Well," and Jim lowered the glass with a gesture of disappointment, "she's comin' to a pretty poor place, for we've got our hands full tryin' to help ourselves."
During the next half hour hardly a word was spoken, so occupied were all hands with watching the stranger, which approached very slowly, and at the end of that time she was almost within hailing distance.