“I—I’m terribly sorry,” the boy stammered. “But we shouldn’t be stranded here long. We’ll soon be picked up.”
Hopefully, Jack gazed toward the nearest shore. No small boats were visible. The ferry, plying her regular passenger route, now was far upstream.
Although the sun still shone brightly, clouds frequently blocked it from view. Waves slapped higher against the drifting boat and the river took on a dark cast.
Neither Penny nor her father spoke of the increasing certainty of rain. However, they watched the shifting clouds uneasily. Soon there was no more sun, and the river waters became inky black.
Presently the wind died completely and a dead calm held the boat. But not for many minutes. Soon a ripple of breeze ruffled the water, and far upstream a haze of rain blotted out the shoreline.
“Here it comes!” Mr. Parker said tersely, buttoning up his coat.
The next instant, wind and rain struck the little boat in full force. Penny’s hat was swept from her head and went sailing gaily down river. Waves which broke higher and higher, spanked the boat, threatening to overturn it when they struck broadside.
“If we just had an anchor—” Jack murmured but did not finish.
Above the fury of the storm could be heard the faint clatter of a motorboat engine. Straining their eyes, they pierced the wall of rain to see a small speedboat fighting its way upstream.
“A boat!” Penny cried. “Now we’ll be picked up!”