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"I must stay with the Blowell," she said, "as I might feel an under current strong enough to move us. Don't delay too long." They were glad to leave the sail boat, if only temporarily. It had become monotonous, if not actually gloomy to sit there, longing to move. A short pull brought the dory on to land, and briskly the girls sprang ashore.
The language of their glances asked that question plainly. "But we did have the awfulest time," Louise broke the awkward silence. "Captain, it's lovely to sail, and our Blowell was like a sea queen, until we struck that sand bar, then she stuck like like the Brooklyn Bridge, not a thing could move her.
Mae was at the tiller guiding the steering gear to fix the vessel in its course, on the smooth, blue waters. For some time the handling of the craft occupied the visitors' entire attention, but presently they undertook to move around. "This is where the Blowell beats your Indian Queen canoe, Louise," said Cleo. "You can move here without upsetting."
The Blowell stood straining at its cable at Round River dock when the scouts, numbering a troop, scampered aboard. Julia's cousins, Mae and Eugenia Westbrook, prided themselves on their nautical skill, and nothing could possibly be more promising for a day's sport than a sail on the Blowell. "Scouts! Scouts! Rah, rah, rah!" "True-Treds! True-Treds Sis-boom ma!"
It was almost worth while being in peril to experience the joy of rescue. "How did you like it over there?" called Neal, who was now keeping close enough alongside the Blowell to permit of conversation. "Nice little island," answered Cleo. "I guess picnickers like it there." "I fancy not," replied the young man. "Folks are not invited over there, I understand."
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