“I say, a cup of coffee and a doughnut, Stan!” John said, rubbing his eyes, and then his stomach. “Cockpits and maintops, but I’m hungry.”
They made coffee and munched doughnuts but said little about the strange surroundings. Stan went on deck then and, in his turn, listened to the sounds of work upon the surface of the cove. He came no nearer to a solution of the problem than had John, and went back to bed at four.
The dimly outlined boat moved off before dawn, and the slowly brightening sky of morning disclosed only a cool, deserted cove. The surrounding hills showed only trees, green and thick, right down to the water’s edge and, in most places, overlapping the water with widespread branches.
At breakfast, as the sun came over the eastern hill, the boys gave each other questioning looks.
“If I was not so sleepy, I’d swear I’d been asleep and dreamed the whole thing, Stan,” John said, yawning and looking longingly at his bunk. “Whatever and whoever was at the center of this cove last night is gone, now.”
“Get some sleep, John, and then we’ll put up our sails and find the entrance. I’m quite sure it’s just round that hill over there.”
“Righto, Skipper!”
And the rangy lad hit the bunk with a sigh of relief.
Stan worked about on deck, washing the sloop down, and glancing around from time to time with interest in the hopes of spotting life along the opposite shore.
He was thus engaged when curiosity got the better of him. He could never, he decided, sail out of Black Cove without an explanation of what he and John had seen and heard. He woke his chum about eight o’clock and suggested that they swim ashore and look Porpoise Island over.