Uncle Tom’s eyes came back from the horizon and he shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know that there’s much we can do—now,” he said. “If they have any sense they’ll put in to port before the storm breaks. That is if they stick close in to shore.”
“They said they would,” Billie put in eagerly. “Oh, I hope they do!”
Uncle Tom nodded absently, for his mind seemed to be upon other things.
“Then they ought to be all right,” he said, adding, while the lines deepened about his mouth: “But Heaven help the ships that can’t put into shore to-night.”
He turned slowly and strode away from them toward the lighthouse with Bruce still following worshipfully after him. He had forgotten they were there.
“Poor Uncle Tom!” said Connie, as they went slowly on toward the bungalow. “He always gets so queer when there’s a storm along the coast. I guess it makes him think of—her.”
It was night, and the storm had burst in all its fury. The four girls and Connie’s mother had gathered in the little front sitting room on the second floor.
Mr. Danvers had started a few minutes before to press the button that would flood the room with light, but Billie had begged him not to.