The firing ceased without her knowing it. Betty awoke and struggled into her wind-blown, sundried garments. Still she sat staring dreamily at the sea.
Then a sudden burst of sound broke in upon her day dreams.
“The plane,” she said, springing to her feet. “It’s coming close.”
“See!” said Betty. “He’s not flying. He’s scooting along on the surface of the water. He’s towing something. Oh, good!” She leaped into the air to do a wild dance.
“It’s your punt! It’s not lost! He found it! He’s bringing it in!”
This was all quite gloriously true. Very soon the seaplane came to a halt before the island. The aviator unbuckled himself; then walked back along the fusilage to drop into the punt and begin rowing shoreward.
As he came close Ruth saw that he was a young army officer with a clean, frank face.
“You’re lucky,” he said to Betty. “Lucky to have such a brave friend. You might have been killed.”
Betty’s arm stole round Ruth’s waist. Ruth’s face took on an unusual rosy tint.
“I’ve brought back your punt,” he said in apparent embarrassment. “It’s rather a long swim back to my plane.”