“It has gone away—fishing,” Jenny answered. “It will come back soon, with lots of beautiful fish! Besides, you have got your own; the one that good John Block made for you.”
“Yes; but I am going to tell him to make me another, one in which I can sail—with papa and mama, and aunty Dolly and Jenny, and everybody!”
Poor little fellow! He voiced so exactly what was wanted—the replacement of the boat—and how was that to be done?
“Run away again and play, darling,” Jenny said to him; “and don’t go far away.”
“No; over there; quite close, Jenny!”
And he kissed his mother and went bounding away as children of his age will.
“Susan dear, and you, too, Dolly dear,” said Jenny, “God will see that that little child is saved! And Bob’s rescue means our own! I do beg of you, no more weakness, no more crying! Have faith in Providence as I have, as I have always had!”
So Jenny spoke out of her brave heart. Come what might, she would never despair. If the rainy season set in before the shipwrecked people could leave this coast—and how could they leave it unless some ship took them off?—arrangements would be made to spend a winter there. The cave would give secure protection from the heavy weather. The heaps of sea-weed would give fuel to protect them from the cold. Fishing, hunting perhaps, would suffice to provide them with their daily bread.
It was of the first importance to know whether John Block’s fears about the turtles were well founded. Happily they were not. After being away for an hour, the boatswain and Frank came back with their accustomed load of turtles, which had taken refuge under the heap of kelp. But they had not a single egg.
“Never mind, they will lay, good old things,” said John Block cheerily.