She alone told of disaster.
The waves were shimmering like gold in the rays of the sun; the foliage was of the densest green, with the white tent at the edge of the grove like a jewel on a piece of rare enameling, and as a background the yellow sands, which sparkled like silver.
Ned stood at the door of the tent drinking it all in until Vance, awakening, cried:
“What is the matter? Do you see a craft?”
“There’s nothin’ in sight. I was lookin’ around and thinkin’ that, accordin’ to the way things appear this mornin’, it isn’t such a terrible thing to be either marooned or shipwrecked.”
“Not after a fellow has gotten safely ashore; but as for going through the experience, I’ve had enough in mine. I don’t believe I shall ever again feel perfectly safe on the water, no matter how big a craft I’m in.”
The hum of conversation awakened Roy, and he heard the last remark.
“Nonsense!” he cried with a hearty laugh. “If we get off this island safely, it won’t be a week before you’ll be trying your luck in the first boat that comes at hand.”
“Wait and see.”
“That’s what I shall have to do. I reckon I’m booked for the most of the cooking, as I did on the Zoe, and I happen to fancy some fried fish. If you two fellows will get the stove on shore, I’ll try my luck with one of Ned’s lines.”