Toby pointed to the left—he had his back to the bluff then—and replied: “That way, of course, if we want to get home. The other way would take us down the island toward Shinnecock.”
But Arnold had got completely turned around and couldn’t see it, at all, and it took Toby and Phebe many minutes to convince him. Even then he was not so much convinced as he was silenced by numbers.
“Will the boat be all right, do you think?” he asked.
“Yes, she can’t get away, and we’ll come around at high tide tomorrow with the Frolic and pull her off. I guess she’ll come easily enough if she doesn’t settle in the sand any more, and she won’t unless a sea gets up.”
“What do you suppose our folks are thinking?” asked Phebe in a troubled voice.
“That’s so!” cried Arnold. “Gee, I’ll bet father is fit to be tied by now!”
“I don’t believe they’ll be very much worried,” said Toby. “Dad will figure it out we got lost in the fog and that we’ve had to land wherever we could. What time is it, now, I wonder?”
“Nearly half-past nine,” answered Arnold holding the dial of his watch to the light of the dying fire. “We’d better make a start, eh?”
“I think so. We can probably get back by midnight. All ready, sis?”