"It is I—Mary Broughton. Don't stop to question me, but listen to what I have to tell you."
She told them in the briefest possible way of what had happened. And in doing this, she deemed it wiser to tell them of Dorothy's disguise, being fearful of what might befall the girl should the men chance to meet her,—more especially as they would now be on the lookout for the stranger, who was doubtless an ill wisher to their scheme.
Doak chuckled mightily over it all, particularly at Mary's description of Dorothy kicking the lanterns off the rock; and several of the other men gave hoarse utterance to their admiration.
"Ev'ry natur' be fitted for its own app'inted work," remarked old Doak, dogmatically. "If Mistress Dorothy had not allers been darin', by the natur' o' things, she'd never a ketched holt o' the right rope so true an' quick as she hev this night,—God bless her!"
Here a younger voice broke in impatiently with, "But, Doak, we ought n't to stand here chatterin' like this."
"True, true, Tommy Harris," the old man replied good-naturedly. "But," turning to Mary, "what shall ye do, Mistress Mary? Hed n't ye best let one o' the boys tek ye to the house? Ye see we be goin' down to the shore to Master John an' the rest of 'em, as was 'greed we should as soon as we saw the 'Pearl' show her light."
Mary said she preferred to go with them. But the old man shook his head, and his companions began to move onward.
"D'ye think 'twould be wise, mistress?" he asked gravely. "Ye see we don't know jest what sort o' work we may find cut out for us,—'specially if the man ye saw throttlin' Johnnie Strings were a British spy, as belike he were, pretty sure." Then he added impatiently, "I wonder where in tarnation Johnnie hev gone to, thet he did n't cut back to tell us?"
"And I am wondering where Dorothy has gone," said Mary, with much anxiety.
"I rather guess ye need hev no fear for her, mistress," Doak made haste to reply. "She be wide awake, I'll bet my head, where'er she be."