The Sibyl, with her precious freight, had danced away lively enough from the launching-place, but had scarcely made a mile before the wind seemed almost to die out, so Val Manning suggested to Bar that they had better take a turn at the oars.
“No,” replied Bar, “there’s more a-coming. Don’t you see that dark-looking ripple out there?”
“Where?” asked Effie Dryer.
“There,” said Bar, pointing with his finger, “and—”
“Here it comes!” exclaimed Brayton.
There was no time to bring the boat around to it—no time for the slightest precaution—no time for anything but a wild cry of fear from the two girls—and then all five of them were floundering in the mocking waters of Skanigo, while their beauty of a boat lay capsized and useless beside them.
Half a mile from shore, and no life-preservers!
It was a good thing that the male members of that party could all swim well.
“Look out for Miss Dryer,” shouted Bar to George Brayton; “I’ll keep Sibyl up. Val, try to right the boat.”