“It’s the most wonderful island ever found out.”
“Hurrah!”
“Let’s have a sail.”
“So we will.”
“Not work any more this afternoon.”
“No; let’s sail up farther—”
“Beyond the island?”
“Yes; unknown seas, don’t you know. Come on.”
Away they ran to the Pinta. The wind lately had blown lightly from the east, and continued all day. These light easterly summer breezes are a delight to those who watch the corn, for they mean fine weather and full wheat-ears. Mark took the tiller, and they sailed southwards through the channel, between New Formosa and Serendib. Not far beyond, Bevis, looking over the side, saw the sunken punt. She was lying in six or seven feet of water, but the white streak on her gunwale could be clearly seen. He told Mark.
“I hope the governor won’t get her up yet,” said Mark. “Lucky he’s so busy—”