“Hulloa, Dave,” shouted George Warren, as a tall, sunburned figure, gaunt but powerful, emerged from the door of the house and peered out across the water at them.
“Hulloa,” he said, laconically. “You all ain’t been over much to see us lately.”
“No, but we thought we would make a call to-day,” said George. “Will you come out and get us? We left the tender behind. We’re going around the island.”
For answer the man shoved his dory off the beach, stepped in, and sculled out to them with one oar out over the stern.
“Climb in here sort of easy like, now,” said he, “and I guess I can take the whole of you ashore at one load. If you two ain’t used to this craft,” he added, addressing Tom and Bob, “you want to look out some, for its tippery and no mistake, though there ain’t no better boat when you know how to behave in it.”
“I guess it’s something like our canoe,” said Tom. “We’re used to that, so I think we’ll manage. Perhaps you never saw a canoe.”
“Not as I know of,” returned the other. “Though I do recall seeing what I thought must be one, from what I’ve heard, going along the shore down below here about an hour ago.”
“It couldn’t have been a canoe,” said Bob, “for ours is the only one on the island, and that is locked up safe at home in the Warren’s shed.”
“Mebbe not,” replied Dave Benson. “I ain’t sure at all. I just noticed there was two boys in it, and they were on their knees and pushing it along with what you call paddles, I think.”
Tom and Bob looked at each other blankly.