"That is a big drop, isn't it?"
"I should say so. But don't say anything to the others," he added, with a quick glance at the girls to see if any had overheard either his or Harriet Burrell's remarks.
"It means a blow, does it not?"
"Yes. But it may be a long way off, possibly a hundred miles or more."
"Then, again, we may be right in the center of it?" she questioned.
The skipper nodded again.
"Is there anything to be done?"
"Nothing except to make all the time we can and keep a weather eye aloft and abroad. Watch your sails and trim them for every breath of air. Jockey her. Now is your time to see what can be done when there is little wind to be had."
Harriet was getting practical experience in sailing a boat such as falls to few novices, but she took to the work like one who had long been used to the sea and its varying moods. Under her skilful manipulation the "Sister Sue" was making fairly good headway, though nothing like what she had done on the outward voyage, for the wind was dying out, becoming more fitful, shifting from one point of the compass to another.
"When the wind moves opposite to the direction of the hands of a clock—what seamen call 'against the clock'—look out for foul weather," the captain informed her.