“It’s too late to go to the fort now,” said Ruth as she straightened up to ease her aching back. “Let’s go for a sail instead.”
So a sail it was. They dropped down around the island and, skimming along over a faultless sea, came at last just as the shadows were deepening to Witches Cove.
“Let’s drop anchor and have our supper here,” suggested Pearl.
“Three gray witches may rise from the water and ask to join us,” said Ruth with a low laugh.
“Let them,” said Pearl, sending the anchor with a plunk into the sea. “There are worse creatures about than gray witches. Here’s hoping they don’t come too close to us.”
The tide was setting in. The Flyaway which, like some active child, seemed always aching to be away, swung and turned, turned and dragged at anchor until she lay within a few feet of the rocky shore. Lying on the deck, munching crabmeat sandwiches and whispering of many things, the girls did not notice this until, with a suddenness that was startling, some dark object came flying through the air to land lightly on the deck.
“Boo!” exclaimed Pearl, springing up.
“Only a black cat,” laughed Ruth. “Smelled our crabmeat. There are some cunners in the box by the mast. Give him one.”
The girls had settled down once more to quiet murmuring, when from the rocks on the shore came a call.
“Ahoy, there! Something tells me you have one of my cats.”