“Oh, brace up!” exclaimed Florence, a note of impatience creeping into her voice. “We’ll get out of this place some way. Perhaps the boat wasn’t taken. Perhaps it has—”
She stopped to stare away across the water.
“I believe it’s out there away down the beach. Look, Lucile. Look sharp.”
The moon had gone behind a small cloud. As it came out they could see clearly the dark bulk of the boat dancing on the water, which was by now roughening up before the rising storm.
“It’s out there,” exclaimed Florence. “We failed to pull it ashore far enough. There is a side sweep to the waves that carried it out. We must get it.”
“Yes, oh, yes, we must!” the child exclaimed. “It wasn’t mine; it was borrowed.”
“You borrow a lot of things,” exclaimed Florence.
“Oh, no, indeed. Not many, not hardly any at all.”
“But, Florence, how can we get it?” protested Lucile.
“I’m a strong swimmer. I swam a mile once. The boat’s out only a few hundred yards. It will be easy.”