By mid-afternoon they were ready for a well-deserved lark.
Betty joined them at the pier. Ruth had drawn the Flyaway alongside, had put on board their lines, bait and lunch, and was preparing to cast off the line when her eyes fell upon a woebegone and drooping little figure on the dock.
“It—it—Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “It’s the little girl I saved from the surf up at Monhegan.”
“Hey, there!” she called. “I thought you’d gone back to Monhegan.”
“No.” The girl’s head shook slowly.
“Mother got afraid when we sailed away down here in that boat you fixed up. She thought Monhegan was too wild and dangerous. But it isn’t!” Her spirit flared up like a torch. “It’s just glorious. It’s dreadfully dull down here. We—” she looked at the boy at her side, and Ruth saw that it was her brother, “we’re going to do something terrible pretty soon!”
“Oh, please don’t,” said Ruth. “I say! We’re going fishing. Want to go along?”
The girl looked up at the boy. “Go ahead.” He pushed her toward the Flyaway.
Ruth recognized this as a generous act. She wanted to ask him to come, too, but it had been agreed that this was to be a girls’ party.
It was Don who saved the day for her. He was on the Foolemagin, busy mending a lobster trap.