“Oh, well, it’s all the same as long as there’s black in it,” responded Lottie. “I knew I had part of it right.”
On went the Chelton, and she had that part of the bay all to herself for the time being. A little breeze ruffled the water, and the sun shone brightly. Under these calming influences of nature the girls—even nervous Bess—felt themselves growing calm, and at peace with the world. The trouble of the night before seemed to melt away, and assume a less sinister aspect. But Cora could not get over the feeling that something akin to a tragedy had nearly happened.
“And it may again,” she thought. “I do wish we could help Freda and her mother, but I don’t see how. Land troubles are always so complicated.”
As Cora turned the wheel and swung the boat about in a wide circle, she was aware of another craft coming toward her. She did not remember having seen it before, and as it drew nearer she noted that it contained but a single occupant—a young man, who, as Lottie said afterward, was not at all bad-looking.
The young fellow guided his boat closer to the Chelton, and after she had done making mental notes of the new craft’s characteristics, Cora had an idea that the stranger wanted to speak to them. Such evidently was his intention, for he slowed down his engine, so as to muffle the noise of the exhaust, and called out:
“On which point is Bayhead, if you please?”
“Over there,” answered Cora, pointing to a promontory that jutted out into the bay. “But be careful and go well out when you round it. There are some dangerous rocks at low tide. How much do you draw?”
“Thirty-four inches.”
“That’s too much to try the short cut.”
“Thank you for telling me,” went on the young man. He certainly was good-looking. Even Cora, conservative as she always was, had to admit that.