He then rose to his feet and looked out over the water, and said, “What kind of a boat was it anyhow?”
“It was a schooner.”
“Of course,” he said. “It would be a schooner, naturally. And while I am not a betting man, I’ll wager ten dollars against a bottle of blackberry cordial that this is it now.”
I leaped to my feet, and there, coming around the point of our cove, was the revenue boat! I could only stand and stare. Our beloved Tish was at the helm, and as we gazed she shouted to Lily May, who at once shoved the anchor overboard. As all the sails were still up, the boat listed heavily to one side, but it stopped.
There was no one else in sight, and this seemed to make Charlie Sands somewhat uneasy.
“By the gods,” he said, “she’s done away with them!”
But this proved to be erroneous. Our dear Tish, having brought the vessel to a halt, straightened her bonnet, and then drawing the small boat which trailed behind to the foot of the rope ladder, she and Lily May got into it and Tish rowed it to the shore.
Her first words were typical.
“I want a policeman, Lizzie,” she said briefly, “and a room in the jail, and a bath.”
“I doubt if the jails are arranged that way,” said Charlie Sands, coming forward. “Still, we can inquire.”