And Mavis, following his eyes, answered, “Yes—there’s—oh, there’s a little boat drifting in—a tiny boat—is it drifting? No; there’s some one in it,—some one with a blue cloak; no, it must have been the waves just touching; the waves are so blue to-day.”
The boy gave a little sigh of satisfaction.
“I thought so,” he said. Then he sprang forward eagerly: “Come on,” he cried, “we mustn’t be late.”
Ruby followed, not too pleased.
“I’ve as good eyes as Mavis,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask me? I don’t believe there’s a boat at all.”
But even Ruby had to give in when in a few minutes they found themselves at the edge of the cove, on the little half-circle of sand which was all that the sea left uncovered at full tide. For there was a boat, a most unmistakable and delightful boat, though scarcely larger than a sofa, and looking like a perfect toy as it rocked gently on the rippling water.
“Goodness!” said Ruby,—and it must be allowed that goodness is a prettier word than rubbish,—“how in the world did that boat come here? Did you bring it, Winfried? No, for if you had you wouldn’t have been looking to see if it had come. But is it your boat?”
“No,” answered the boy; “it’s lent me, on purpose for you and Miss Mavis. Get in, please.”
Ruby came forward, but hesitated.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she said. “You know the sea is very rough—round there near the village. And this is such a very little boat.”