The Blue Jar.
IT was some minutes before either spoke. All they knew was that they were once more in the air and light. Then, with a start, Reube sat up and looked about him. He looked, of course, for the Dido. To his inexpressible relief the cherished craft was there in plain sight, riding safely at her anchor, some fifty yards from shore. And there, farther out, rode the pinkie. Reube blessed his comrade’s foresight.
“Will, where would the boats be now?” said he, “if you hadn’t insisted on anchoring them?”
Will sat up and surveyed the situation, thoughtfully clearing the mud from his eyes with little bunches of grass.
“It was just as well we anchored them,” he assented. “And now that I’ve got my wind, I think I had better swim out to the Dido and bring her in for you. I feel as if I wanted a bath anyway; don’t you?”
“I’ll be with you in half a minute,” said Reube. “But first I want to explore the cave a little more. It seems to me we came away in something of a hurry!”
He let himself cautiously down in the hole, feet first.
Will stopped his undressing and stared at him in amazement.
“Are you crazy?” he cried. “Do come out of that beastly hole! The idea of it makes me quite ill!”
“O, I’m not going far,” said Reube, “and I won’t be gone long, either. Don’t be alarmed.”