"Oh yes, I am," she cried; "I'm awfully frightened. Do you think the boat can stand it, Dare? Do you think we will ever get home?"
Dare looked out toward the horizon. The rain was falling even more heavily; the wind was blowing steadily from the north, and the darkness was shutting down. It was an angry-looking night, and Dare had to fight hard to shake off a thrill of terror from herself.
"There's no danger, dear," she said, bravely. "I've been out in a heavier blow than this, and so long as we can keep her before the wind we're all right. Only I'm afraid, Mollie, we'll have to spend the night out here. But you needn't mind that. You needn't even be hungry, for I've got some biscuit and a can of water in the locker; and in the morning we'll run in somewhere down the coast, or, if the wind has changed, come straight home. I wouldn't dare put up the sail until after the storm is over," she added.
They ate the biscuits and drank the water; and then, as the night grew darker and darker, and finally shut out all surrounding objects, Dare insisted that Tom and Mollie should go to sleep. Tom could lie down in the bow, using one of the seat cushions for a pillow, and Mollie in the stern, resting her head in Dare's lap. Dare would watch, she said. Tom, who was quite used up by exposure and fear, at once accepted the suggestion; and Mollie, after some persuasion, also consented to it, though she insisted that Dare should keep the jacket for herself. Before she lay down she hesitated a moment.
"May I say my prayers?" she asked, softly.
Dare bent over her and took the little folded hands in her own.
"Say them for me too," she whispered.
So Mollie said her prayers; and then, while the wind roared and the boat rocked and the rain fell, she went peacefully to sleep, covered by the jacket which, without her knowing it, Dare had taken off and transferred to Mollie's thinly clad shoulders. For a long time Dare watched the quiet little form, resting one hand protectingly on the child's wavy hair, while with the other she held the tiller and kept the boat still before the wind. By-and-by, however, the clouds broke and the wind veered. The water gradually calmed, the boat rocked less and less, and Dare too had fallen asleep.
Early the next morning Mrs. Peters came to the door of the little cottage on Star Island, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked out over the sea. It promised to be a fair day. The storm had cleared off in the night, and a fresh breeze was blowing from the southwest. Nothing, however, could be seen of the dory, and as the dory ought to have been home the afternoon before, Mrs. Peters began to be a little worried. She had not worried until now, because Dare could not be expected to come home in a storm. The child had no doubt put into Kittery Point, and staid all night with the Grays, as she had done before under like circumstances. But in that case she ought to be coming home now. Mrs. Peters looked toward the little cove where the dory was accustomed to lie; and to her great surprise discovered a mast-head rising above the intervening rocks. The mast was not rocking, as it would be if the dory were in the water. The boat must be drawn up on the beach. But who had done that? Had Dare come home in the night? With a quick beating at her heart, Mrs. Peters ran over the rocks down toward the beach. There was the dory sure enough. How had it got there, and who was in it?