“Wonderful queer,” thought he, as he dipped his oars in the water again; “but I ’low we ought t’ be in the harbour.”
There was a louder clap of thunder.
“We’ll have that wind afore long,” mused Jimmie.
“You ’aven’t gone an’ lost your way, ’ave you?” Bagg inquired in a frightened voice.
“Wonderful queer,” Jimmie replied. “We ought t’ be in the harbour by this time. I ’low maybe I been pullin’ too far t’ the nor’east.”
“No, you ’aven’t,” said Bagg; “you been pullin’ too far t’ the sou’east.”
“I ’low not,” mused Jimmie.
“’Ave, too,” Bagg sniffed.
Jimmie was not quite sure, after all. He wavered. Something seemed to be wrong. It didn’t feel right. Some homing instinct told him that the tickle rocks did not lie in the direction in which the bow of the punt pointed. In fact, the whole thing was queer––very queer! But he had not pulled too far to the southeast; he was sure of that. Perhaps, too far to the northeast. He determined to change his course. 134
“Now, Bagg,” said he, confidently, “I’ll take you into harbour.”