Arnold hadn’t, but Toby himself finally came across a tiny piece crumpled up in the bottom of a pocket. It wasn’t exactly wet, but it certainly wasn’t dry, and he had doubts of its usefulness. Meanwhile they felt and fumbled about on the shingle and among the bushes for dry twigs and of wood, Phebe adding to the joy of the occasion by reminding them that there was probably poison ivy there. However, as no one was poisoned, she was undoubtedly unnecessarily pessimistic. At the end of five minutes or so they had a collection of fairly dry sticks and chips and wave-worn bits of wood piled on the shelf of smooth, round stones, and very carefully Toby introduced his precious bit of paper at the base of the little pile and Arnold anxiously scraped a match on the box. Nothing happened, for the box was damp, and one of the three matches was put out of commission.
“Give me one,” said Toby. When he had it he poked around among the stones until he found one that seemed dry on the under side and then lightly scraped the match against it. There was a tiny yellow flare in the darkness and, after another moment, a breath-seizing, anxious moment, the scrap of paper burst into flame, the dry twigs caught and a little red glare lighted the immediate scene. They scurried for more fuel, aided in their search by the flickering light, and Toby fed the fire with care and science. There was one doubtful moment when the flames died away to glowing embers, but Toby dropped to his hands and puffed his cheeks and blew mightily and the fire started afresh. Once well under way they were obliged to use less care in the selection of fuel, and larger pieces of driftwood, dampened by water or fog, soon dried out and took fire. And presently they were able to look about them.
Some ten yards out lay the Aydee, side-on, barely visible in the enveloping fog. Right and left, boulders and low ledges showed, and shoreward, the radius of orange light reached half-way up a sandy bluff. The fog made everything look spectral and unreal. Toby again shook his head.
“You can search me,” he muttered helplessly.
“Perhaps if we climbed that bluff,” suggested Arnold, “we might find a road or something.”
“Yes, we could try that, or we could keep along the shore. First of all, though, I’m for getting sort of dried out.”
Phebe had already seated herself as near the fire as she dared, and, shielding her face with her hands, was sighing luxuriously. The boys followed her example, but although the flames gave out a pleasant heat and their damp garments steamed in it, the warmth didn’t seem to penetrate to their chilled bodies, and, as Arnold said, while you were toasting on one side you were shivering on the other. But by dint of revolving, like a roast on a spit, they did finally get some of the chill out of their bodies, and while they did it they discussed ways and means.
“Climbing that bluff in the dark doesn’t look good to me,” said Toby. “I guess it would be hard enough to do it in the daytime. The best thing we can do is hike along the shore. We’re bound to find a house or a road or something after a while.”
“Well, which way shall we hike?” asked Arnold.