This was quickly done, the rope being caught by a man who had come on the run as soon as he had seen the Arrow slip into this protected cove. Tying it fast to a pile, he rose and bawled through his cupped hands:
“That you, Lem?”
“Ay, ay, Johnny,” responded Vinton. “I didn’t fergit this stunt, you see.”
“That’s right. The Arrow’s the only sloop small enough to get in. Comin’ ashore?”
“Yep; by an’ by.”
Presently they all climbed down a rope ladder into the Arrow’s dory, which swung alongside, and went up to the lighthouse. All but Dave, who, strange to say, considering his dislike of being on the water, preferred to spend the night in the cuddy.
Outside the cove the wind howled with a fury that nearly swamped some of the anchored craft. Indeed, it flung spray and foam over their rigging, and made them tug desperately at their cables. Now they rose swaying on the crests of the waves, now they sank into the deep troughs as if they were bent on going to the bottom. Yet in the little rock-bound cove the lighthouse boats and the Arrow were secure and safe.
In the house, after supper, the voyagers sat and talked with their host. The lighthouse keeper’s name was John Bowling, and he was a brother-in-law of Captain Anderson of the Red Key Life Saving Station. So, naturally, he was interested in hearing about the rescue of Ruth, the boys’ recent sojourn at Red Key, and the wreck of the Mary Jane.
“I used to know the cap’n of that schooner,” he said, “but it’s three years since I saw him last. We don’t see many folks or have many visitors here, except the spongers and now and then the crew of some passing craft. So strangers with news to tell are certainly welcome.”
“Don’t you find it pretty lonely?” inquired Alec.