Then, as the day wore on threatening, with the thunder-clouds slowly mounting higher, and the wind coming in fiercer gusts, the yachts, each in a safe harbour, laid up for the day. The respective crews wandered about the towns as if they were each, individually, the mayor, or at least were a party of the selectmen.
The Warren boys, having returned on the previous evening, and being apprised by Mrs. Warren of the news confided to her care, were disappointed not to have joined the party; but they made ready, the next morning, to follow. Then the early morning steamer from Bellport brought them a letter, saying that Mr. Warren, senior, would arrive on the night-boat from Benton, and had arranged for a week’s cruise with them, among the islands. So they changed their plans to a short run down toward the foot of Grand Island, to be back at nightfall.
There, again, the fortune of sailing was against them. By mid-afternoon, when they would have put back, the storm threatened.
“No use,” said George Warren, reluctantly. “We’ll have to wait for it to blow over. We’ll be glad enough of this good harbour in a half-hour more.”
The storm broke soon after, heavily. By five o’clock it was pouring in torrents, with sharp flashes of lightning illumining the darkened waters of the bay. By six o’clock it eased up a little.
“Well, one of us is in for it,” said George Warren. “Somebody’s got to tramp up the island, home. Father will be down, and he won’t like it, to find us gone. The other two can sail the yacht up in the morning. We’ll draw lots to see who goes.”
To the immense relief of his brothers, the lot fell to him. They consoled him, but with satisfaction not all unconcealed. He took it in good part, however.
“Don’t feel too bad about it, Joe,” he said, as he bade them good night. “I know you wanted to go home, but I’ll tell the folks you’re comfortable.”
He started off in the drizzle. They had run down about seven miles, and there was that length of muddy road ahead of him. It was not his fortune to accomplish much of his journey, however. Three miles up the island, the storm resumed its fury, blowing the rain fiercely in his face, while the whole island seemed to shake with the crashing of the thunder. It was useless to contend against it, and, at length, he turned in at a farmhouse by the roadside, and sought shelter.
“Yes, indeed,” said the housewife, to his request. “There’s the spare room at the end of the hall up-stairs for you, and welcome. There’s wood in the wood-box, too, and you can build up a fire in the fireplace and dry your clothes. You’re as wet as a drowned cat. When you’re dried out, come down-stairs and I’ll have a cup of tea for you. We’ve had a boarder for two days in that room, but he went away yesterday; and I’m glad he’s gone, for your sake.”