"What is it, lass?" shouted the old fellow. "See something out there?"
"It is a boat," she cried back anxiously. "Yes!—it is a boat."
Old Neil scanned the sea. "Can't see nothing, lass. Can you, George?"
I followed the direction of Rita's pointing.
"I'm not quite sure," I answered at last, "but it looks to me as if there was something rising and falling away there to the right."
Neil ran into the house for his telescope.
"By God!" he cried, "it's a tug. She's floundering like a duck on ice. Steering gear gone, or something! Hope they can keep heading out for the open, or it's all up with them," he said.
We watched the boat for a while, then we turned into the house and partook of the old fellow's tea and hot rolls.
In half an hour, we went out again.
"George, George!" cried Rita, with a voice of terror, looking back to us from her position on the high rock. "Quick!—they are driving straight in shore."