Ann knew already of the blue-uniformed men who patrolled the shores of the United States on foot and in small boats, men who were stationed at dangerous points to look for ships in distress and help them, men who were always ready to risk their own lives in their efforts to bring shipwrecked sailors ashore.
“Yes, they came,” Fred answered. “They went aboard her, and they took her measurements, her type and capacity, but they could find no record of such a boat nor the report of any missing boat of her description. And because there was no salvage on her and as she didn’t lie in such a way as to be a menace to shipping they left her for the sea to break up—and that’s going to take a long time, by the rate she’s going now.”
“I’d like to go on her,” Mr. Seymour said. “Would you be willing to take me?”
“Any time,” Fred assented. “Any time you pick out as long as the sun shines.”
“What about now?” Mr. Seymour smiled into Fred’s steady blue eyes.
“Just as good a time as any,” agreed Mr. Bailey, rising from his chair.
Ann’s eyes were beseeching but she knew that her father would not be willing to have her go, too, so she did not ask. He stopped an instant as he passed her on his way to the door and gave her a pat of approval, for he was perfectly aware of how much she wanted to see the boat.
“If I find there is nothing on the ship,” he said, “you can play there to your heart’s content.”
Fred heard, and he shook his head dubiously. But he said nothing more. The two went out together and down the meadow toward the schooner.
Ann watched them, and as she stood in the doorway she noticed that the figurehead on the bow had completely lost its twilight menace, as her father had foretold. This morning it looked exactly as it was, a battered wooden statue almost too badly carved to resemble anything. The arms that she had thought were stretched above its head now seemed to be wings and the expression of the face was almost peaceful.