"The waves is lashin' up at us," said William, surveying the placid stream. "I don't think this ole boat will stick together much longer if we don' see a bit of land soon. I'm jus' drenched through—spite of my tauparlings—an' almost perishin, of hunger 'cause the provisions was swep' overboard, aren't you, mate?"
"Yes, Will—I mean skipper," said Joan, raising blue eyes alight with admiration.
The path now turned inland. This part of the river was private, and the back garden of a large house swept down to the river's bank.
"I b'lieve—I b'lieve," said William, "that I see an island—I b'lieve that at last I see an island jus' as this ole boat is goin' to crash to pieces against a towerin' rock. There! It's crashed to pieces against a towering rock. My goodness! We're in the icy water now! Well, you catch hold of an ole splinter or somethin' an' I'll catch hold of somethin' else, an' we'll jus' make for that ole island with all our might an' main—spite of the rain an' wind lashin' at our faces——"
With set, grim expression he began to struggle through the garden hedge.
"Come on, mate," he called, holding the bushes aside for her, "here's the island at last. Now we'll lie down on the sand an' sleep an' then I'll go an' get the things wot will be washed up from the wreck."
The part of the garden where they found themselves was out of sight of the house. There was a summer-house by the river and near that a clothes-line with a table-cloth hung out to dry.
They sat down on the bank of the river.
"Nice to rest, isn't it," said William, "after all that strugglin' against the fierce wind an' rain?"
"Yes, Will—I mean skipper."