“Thessaly,” said Mark presently. “See! we’re getting to places where people live again. I say, shall we try the anchor?”
“Yes. Let down the mainsail first.”
Mark let it down, and then put the anchor over. It sank rapidly, drawing the cable after it. The flat stone in the shaft endeavoured as it sank to lie flat on the bottom, and this brought one of the flukes or points against the ground, and the motion of the boat dragging at it caused it to stick in a few inches. The cable tightened, and the boat brought up and swung with her stem to the wind. Mark found that they did not want all the cable; he hauled it in till there was only about ten feet out; so that, allowing for the angle, the water was not much more than five or six feet deep. They were off the muddy shore, lined with weeds. Rude as the anchor was, it answered perfectly. In a minute or two they hauled it up, set the mainsail, and sailed almost to the harbour, having to row the last few yards because the trees kept much of the breeze off. They unshipped the mast, and carried it and the sails home.
In the evening Mark set to work to shave another and somewhat longer pole for the new mast, and Bevis took the sails and some more canvas to Frances. He was not long gone, and when he returned said that Frances had promised to do the work immediately.
“Did you do the cat and mouse?” said Mark. “Did you stare?”
“I stared,” said Bevis, “but there were some visitors there—”
“Stupes?”
“Stupes, so I couldn’t get on very well. She asked me what I was looking at, and if she wasn’t all right—”
“She meant her flounces; she thinks of nothing but her flounces. Some of the things are called gores.”
“But I began about the rifle, and she said perhaps, but she really had no influence with Jack.”