Gently, almost at the inlet, the Porto Bello lifted her nose on a swell, and poked it experimentally into the sand.
She liked the soft bed, burrowed forward on the next low swell, and then settled down, like a baby in its cradle.
“We may thank goodness for being here,” cried Tom. “It’s not so bad!”
“Not so bad—to be stranded?” demurred Cliff.
“Better here than—out there!” Tom waved his arm toward the roaring surf of the outer reef.
“Yes,” Nicky agreed, then, ruefully, he added, “but we’re stranded!”
“Unless it’s quicksand, we’re all right,” Tom declared. “When it’s low tide we can examine the propeller.”
“But how can we get off?” urged Nicky.
“Let’s take one thing at a time—and take it as it comes!” said Tom. And Mr. Gray, somewhat shaken, but very calm, as well as Bill, agreed with Tom.