“I know,” chuckled Connie. “Mother was worrying a little about that—as to how she could keep four famished wolves fed at one time. But Uncle Tom said he’d help her out.”
“Your Uncle Tom,” Vi repeated wonderingly. “Can he cook?”
“Of course,” said Connie, looking at her as if she had asked if the world was square. “Didn’t I tell you about his clam chowder?”
“Oh,” said Vi thoughtfully, while something within her began to cry out for a sample of that clam chowder. “Oh yes, I remember.”
“Connie, you’re cruel,” moaned Laura. “Can’t you talk of something besides clam chowder when you know I’m starving to death? Goodness, I can almost smell it.”
“That’s the clams you smell,” chuckled Connie. “They always have some on board the Mary Ann to sell to the islanders—if they haven’t the sense to catch them themselves. We never need to buy any,” she added, proudly. “Uncle Tom keeps us supplied with all we want. Look!” she cried suddenly, pointing to a small island which loomed directly ahead of them, looking in the grey mist of evening like only a darker shadow against the shifting background. “That’s our island—see? And there’s the light,” she added, as a sudden beacon flashed out at them, sending a ruddy light out over the dark water.
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful!” cried Billie rapturously. “Just think what it must mean to the ships out at sea—that friendly light, beckoning to them——”
“No, it doesn’t—beckon, I mean,” said Connie decidedly. “That’s just what it isn’t for. It’s to warn them to keep away or they’ll be sorry.”
“Is there so much danger?” asked Laura eagerly.
“I should say there is,” Connie answered gravely. “In a storm especially. You see, the water is very shallow around here and if a big ship runs in too close to shore she’s apt to get on a shoal. That isn’t so bad in clear weather—although a ship did get stuck on the shoal here not so very long ago and she was pretty much damaged when they got her off. But in a storm——”