"Wait—the oars may be close at hand," he replied. "I will make a search."
"And so will I. Oh, we must find them!"
They ran up and down the rocky shore, looking far and near for the oars, but without success. Presently they came to a halt, out of breath with running.
"Gone, sure enough!" groaned the boy. "What a pickle we are in now!"
"We can't stay here, Jack."
"We'll have to stay here, Marion, unless I can find the oars or make substitutes."
"How are you going to make substitutes?"
"I might take some planks from the wreck."
"But you have no tools."
"I have a stout jack-knife."