They did sixteen miles that day over fairly good roads and through an interesting country. It was a fresh, brisk day with just enough warmth in the sunshine. They skirted picturesque inlets, and crossed bridges over tiny coves in which fishing boats and other craft lay hauled up amid the beach grass. In the late afternoon they reached Sag Harbor, found a hotel, visited the post office, got their mail, and ate a hearty supper. Bedtime arrived early that evening, for none of them had rested very much the night before, and they were pretty sleepy. Bob managed to write a letter, but the others begged off until morning.
A good ten hours of sleep left them feeling “fine and dandy,” to quote Dan, and after breakfast and letter writing had been attended to they set out to see the town. They found plenty to interest them, and if this were an instructive narrative I should tell you some of the things they saw. But as it isn’t, I’m going to leave them alone until dinner time.
After that meal had been disposed of with hearty good will, they packed their knapsacks again, and set about crossing to the north shore. Tom was for stopping at Shelter Island, but it was already the sixteenth of the month, and it behooved them to turn their faces homeward if they were to report at their schools on time. They learned that the regular ferry would take them to Greenport or Orient, but those places were too far east. So they studied the situation with the aid of a map in the office of the hotel.
“What we want to do,” said Bob, “is to get to Southold or Peconic. That will save us six or eight miles over Greenport.”
“Well,” suggested Dan, “we’ve got plenty of money now, so let’s get some one to sail us over. Or what’s the matter with sailing straight down the bay all the way to this place here; what’s the name of it? Jamesport?”
“It would take all night,” answered Bob. “It must be a good sixteen miles, and with this breeze——”
“Don’t you worry about the breeze,” said Nelson. “There’s going to be more of it pretty soon. But, considering the fact that we’re supposed to be on a walking trip, Dan, sailing sixteen miles of the way sounds a bit funny.”
“What was the place you said, Bob?” Tom asked.
“I said Southold or Peconic, Peconic for choice because it’s farther west. If we’re going to get back to New York on the twentieth as we agreed, we’ve got to cover ground during the next few days, and every mile counts. You see we’ve lost three days since we started. We want to stop back at Barrington to see Jerry, and I think we’d ought to get there about Tuesday noon. Then Wednesday morning we can go on to Cold Spring, or wherever that steamboat line starts from, and take the boat to New York.”