“The men on the sub have made a fog to hide them,” was the grandfather’s reply. “Even the airplanes will not find the sub now.”
“Come,” he lifted her up, “we must go back to the cabin. You are freezing. We will listen there. You may talk with your hands.”
“Grandfather,” she said, as she trotted beside him, “will the sub come back?”
“Perhaps another day.”
“And then will you shoot at those shadows on the water?”
“Yes, if I know they are our enemies, I will!”
Little Patsy did not talk with her hands that night, for, after drinking a big cup of hot chocolate and being wrapped in two warm blankets, she curled up on the broad couch and fell fast asleep.
It was the grandfather who, with his hands, spelled out their story to Beth and Bess, the faithful watchers at the Granite Head spotter tower. And all the while the searching planes roared on in the night.