So Lloyd and Jem said, at least, and they had a right to know, as they had been born and bred on that bit of rocky island, and knew every foot of the sea within a mile, as well as they knew their own crab-boats and drag-nets.
The vessel was a small schooner, such as ran down to the island from town in summer with flour, and took back crabs and fish.
"But what can she want now?" said Jem.
"She don't know the coast," said Lloyd. "She'll be on the rocks in an hour, if she don't tack."
Jem went to school over on the mainland in winter. There was no need for him to work so hard, either. The money he made by gunning or fishing he spent for tops and kites. But Lloyd's mother, Mrs. Wells, who lived in a little brown cottage back of the rocks, was not able to keep him and herself without his help. For two or three years he had worked as hard as any man on the island. There had been another son of Mrs. Wells, older than Lloyd, a young man called John. But he had been mate on the Swallow, that was wrecked on the Irish coast four years ago, when all the crew were lost—never heard of again.
So there was nobody left but Lloyd. In winter, when there was no fishing, he whittled crosses and paper-knives out of the cedars, trimming them with lichen, and sent them over to town for sale.
In the evenings he would go out for a run and whiff of fresh air. He and Jem were cruising about when they spied the schooner.
They sat quite still a good while, watching her beating about, going out to the open sea, and then turning as often, and heading toward the coast on which they sat.
"It's plain that she's trying to make this island," said Jem.
"Yes, sir. She'll go to pieces if she tries it," answered Lloyd, taking off his cap and putting it on again, emphatically. "Yes, sir; she'll go to pieces."