Many a waif did they pick up, and stow away on their new craft against the contingency of some future need.
Among other “floating fragments” Ben chanced upon his own sea-chest; which secured him a change of linen,—to say nothing of a full suit of “Sunday go-ashores” and variety of knick-knacks likely to prove of service on the problematical voyage he proposed making.
The chest itself was retained to serve as a useful “locker.”
The fourth day being spent in such fashion, the Catamarans retired to rest,—little William, at the request of the sailor, repeating the Lord’s Prayer, and ending it, by the dictation of the latter, with a short petition for a wind that would waft them to the westward!
It seemed as if that simple petition had been heard and granted. As the sun once more rose over the ocean, its glossy surface became broken into tiny corrugations by a breeze blowing as if from the sun himself. The sail was run up the slippery mast; it was tightly sheeted home; and the Catamaran, rushing rapidly through the water, soon cleared herself from that fatal spot where the slaver had perished.
“Westward ho!” cried Ben Brace, as he saw the sail swell out, and the craft, the product of his own skill, walking proudly away through the water like a “thing of life.”
“Westward ho!” simultaneously echoed Snowball and Little William; while the eyes of Lilly Lalee sparkled with joy, as she beheld the enthusiastic bearing of her companions.