Molly paid out the sheet a bit. "I don't see how you know whether I am an old sailor or just a beginner. Maybe I have been sailing canoes for years."
"I don't know for sure," apologized Rodman, "but not longer than a week ago I saw you in the library getting a book on sailing. Now, I never heard of a real sailor reading a book about it. They always know it all; at least, they always say they do."
It was Molly's turn to laugh now. "You're right. I haven't been at it for years; but Horace Hibbs took me out nine or ten times in that canoe of his, and the last few times I sailed it all by myself. Then yesterday, too, I took him out in mine, and he never gave me a bit of advice, and I tacked and came about and made a beautiful landing—he said so himself. But you do notice things, don't you, Rodman? I've never seen anybody that noticed little things the way you do."
They were in the bay now, and Molly pointed the canoe toward the outer edge of the shallow area. The wind was almost directly inshore, but by keeping the sheet close-hauled Molly skimmed along at a merry clip almost into the teeth of the breeze.
"Ready to come about," warned Molly.
"Turn to your right; starboard, you know."
Easily and with a fair degree of safety, the canoe came about to port. Rodman shook his head.
"I wouldn't risk that, Molly. When you turn again, running before the wind, come about the simple and natural way—toward the lower tip of your sail."
She stole a quick look at him. "How do you know which is better? You told me you were never in a sail-boat before."
"Well, I haven't been. Shucks, that's just common sense. If you come about the right way, the sail only straightens out; if you swing the wrong way, the—the boom, I guess you call it, whips across the boat and may upset it. Anyhow, I should think there would be danger. But here is some first-class information. By the looks of the lake, we are going to be in a dead calm before two minutes; and after that"—he studied the horizon—"look out!"