"It'll seem like a month before he gets back, even if he has a fair wind each way," Tommy said with a long-drawn sigh, and Sam cried cheerily:
"Let's get to work, an' keep right at it, else the day will never go by."
Even Mr. Rowe followed this advice, and it is safe to say that a greater amount of work had never before been performed on Apple Island in the same length of time. When the sun began to go down into the west, however, every one kept his eyes fixed on the horizon in the direction of Southport, and Uncle Ben's dory looked to be no more than a tiny speck on the waters, when Reuben shouted:
"He's comin', lads, an' now it can't be sich a dreadful long time before we know who owns the 'Sally D.'!"
Surely the moments never passed more slowly, nor the dory never moved at such a snail's pace before, and Uncle Ben was barely within hailing distance when, unable longer to restrain his patience, Sam cried:
"Who owns her, Uncle Ben? Who owns the 'Sally'?"
Then in a shrill, but triumphant tone, came the reply:
"Uncle Ben's family bought her for four hundred and seventy dollars, an' I've got the papers in my pocket!"
Instantly it was as if the three on the beach had taken leave of their senses. They shouted, sang, and Tommy even danced a hornpipe, after which Mr. Rowe, having learned all he wished to know, ran over to the stranded schooner, where he began making calculations for the work he had already determined should be begun on the morrow.
The two boys acted much as if they wanted to hug the old lobster catcher when finally he stepped ashore; at all events, they each took one of his hands, shaking it so vigorously that he was forced to cry for mercy.