“Mayhap he is,” said Ben Bence slowly, “but I mistrust he found it too rough for the raft.”
“In that case——” said Herbert anxiously and stopped without answering the question.
“In that case the poor boy’s at the bottom of the sea, it’s likely.”
“He could swim, Mr. Bence.”
“Yes, but the tide would be too strong for him. Just about now there’s a fearful undertow. I couldn’t swim against it myself, let alone a boy.”
“If anything has happened to him it’s his uncle’s fault,” said Herbert.
“John Trafton will have to answer for it,” said the fisherman sternly. “There ain’t one of us that don’t love Bob. He’s a downright good boy, Bob Coverdale is, and a smart boy, too.”
“If he’s lost I will never have anything more to do with George Randolph. I will ask mother to pack him back to Boston to-morrow.”
“George ain’t a mite like you,” said Ben Bence.
“I hope not,” returned Herbert hastily. “He’s one of the meanest boys I ever met. He might just as well have taken poor Bob off the island this afternoon, if he hadn’t been so spiteful and ugly.”