"Hurry back. Supper will be on the table by the time you get below again."
Tommy, pitcher in hand, ran up the ladder to the deck above, Harriet and Miss Elting, in the meantime, putting the food on the table.
"Tom-m-m-y-y-y!" called Jane after some minutes had elapsed. "The little girl has gone to sleep up there, I'll wager."
A scream, followed by a loud splash, startled the passengers on board the "Red Rover." They rushed for the door.
"Tommy's fallen overboard!" yelled Harriet.
Beaching the lower deck they saw one little white hand holding aloft a pitcher, and lower down, scarcely discernible, a bit of tow hair and a freckled nose.
"Thave me!" wailed Tommy.
"We ought to leave you," flung back Margery. "What's the matter? Can't you swim?"
"Yeth. But the pitcher can't."
Knowing that Tommy could take care of herself in the water, no one went overboard to her rescue. Harriet flung out a coil of rope.