“You won’t,” laughed Penny, giving her a thermos bottle to carry.
By the time the girls reached the dock, the rising sun had begun to scatter the mist. Patches of fog still hung over portions of the river however, and it was impossible to see the far shore.
“Shouldn’t we wait another hour?” Louise suggested as Penny leaped aboard the dinghy.
“Oh, by the time we get the sail up the river will be clear,” she responded carelessly. “Toss me the life preserver cushions.”
While Penny put up the mainsail, Louise wiped the seats dry of dew. Her fingers stiff with cold, she cast off the mooring ropes, and the boat drifted away from the dock.
“Well, the river is all ours this morning,” Penny remarked, watching the limp sail. “That’s the way I like it.”
“Where’s the breeze?” demanded Louise suspiciously.
“We’ll get one in a minute. The headland is cutting it off.”
“You’re a chronic optimist!” accused Louise. Wetting a finger, she held it up. “I don’t believe there is any breeze! We’ll just drift down stream and then have to row back!”
“We’re getting a little now,” said Penny as the sail became taut. “Hold your fire, dear chum.”