Climbing the stairway, Walter swept the sea with his bright eyes, and then looked landward across the black rocks and the fading fields. Then he turned toward the sea again. Off in the east was the fishing smack, slowly sailing in the sun. Then he looked up at the flag–staff, which carried some specimen of marine architecture on its top.
“I see two craft,” said Walter.
“Two?” inquired Tom, solicitously.
“The fishing smack and this on top of the staff.”
“Ho—ho!” roared Tom.
“Only I can’t make out this second one in the air.”
“It was a brig, but the last gale we had tore away its rigging, and made some improvements; and I don’t know what on airth or water to call that thing. I guess she is ’phibious, and will go on either.”
Walter’s eager eyes caught a glimpse of a box, on a landing half way up the stairway to the lookout, and from this box projected bundles of cloth, here and there showing bits of color.
“That is the signal box?” remarked Walter.
“Yes. Sometime I will explain them to you.”