CHAPTER XI
THE WAVERING RED LIGHT
“Look, Don. What a strange red light.” Pearl, who had been curled like a kitten on the prow of the boat, rose on her elbows to point away to sea.
“Where?” Don asked.
“Over by Witches Cove.”
“Plenty of lights on the sea,” he grumbled. He was tightening the last bolts in the pride of his life, his sloop with a kicker, which he had whimsically named Foolemagin. They had been home from Monhegan a full day now. His motor had gone wrong, and he was repairing it. In a few moments she would be cutting the waters down the bay. He did not wish to be disturbed.
“But this one acts so strangely,” Pearl persisted. “It sort of wavers up and down, like—like a ship in distress.”
“Distress! What nonsense!” the boy exclaimed impatiently as he tossed down a hammer and seized a wrench. “There is no sea tonight. A little swell, that’s all. How could a ship go aground on a night like this?”
“There now!” he sighed at last. “She ought to do for a trial trip.”
Releasing his boat from the float to which she was anchored, he threw the motor into gear. Purring as sweetly as a cat on the hearth, the motor set the boat gliding through the water.
“What could be finer?” He dropped back on the circular seat in the stern.