“No, I don’t think so....” Peggy moved a bit. “Mary, are you all right?”
“My head,” she said shakily. “No—it’s all right—I just bumped it.”
“Thank heaven!” Peggy breathed. “And thank goodness you cut the motor so fast, Michael. If you hadn’t been so quick....” They were all silent, realizing that it was only Michael’s alert action that had saved them from a much more serious accident.
“Where are we?” Peggy finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael said, “but we’d better get out and see. I hope we’re not on a rock somewhere.”
The rain was so thick and the night so black that they couldn’t see a foot in front of them. Michael climbed out first, feeling his way. “It’s rock, all right,” he said nervously. “No—then it goes on into sand. Maybe we’re on a small island. Peggy, throw out the cushions from the seats, will you? I don’t know if the boat is lodged too tightly to sink or not, but we might as well have them to sit on.”
Groping in the dark, Peggy withdrew the cushions and handed them to Michael. Her hands touched something slick and cold. “What’s in the back seat, Michael?” she asked.
“Oh, good girl! Oilskin raincoats. I would have forgotten all about them. We keep them there—for emergencies.” Michael’s voice was hollow and Peggy knew that he was beginning to feel the situation. Michael had wrecked his precious boat. Well, there was no time now to think about that. Peggy took out the coats and wrapped one around Mary, who was still shivering slightly from shock.
They climbed up on their hands and knees, feeling their way precariously from the rocks on which the boat had crashed to the sandy beach. Peggy bumped into something and shrieked, then she realized it was a tree trunk. “Michael, we’re in some woods! Come on, Mary, get under cover and out of the rain!”
“Why doesn’t somebody light a match?” Mary asked plaintively. “Let’s make a fire or something.”