No, that had been lying at the wharf for an hour. The Boston steamer? That was not yet running. Could she be a certain white yacht of clean-cut, racing lines, the one that had slipped by Appledore in the fog, that night of the adventure at the mill, the one that had passed the Island three times already that day?
“I think I had better tell Captain Saulsby,” Billy said.
He had not far to go, for he met the old sailor stumbling his way through the dark half-way down the path. Even his dull old ears had heard the change in the bell-buoy’s voice, and he had come in such haste that he still carried his lighted pipe in one hand and the bundle of papers he had been reading in the other.
“Did you see anything? Did you hear anything?” he demanded as Billy came to his side. Before the boy could answer, Sally’s quick feet came pattering behind him.
“There is a boat,” she cried. “I heard oars! Oh, come quickly.”
When, however, they all three arrived upon the beach there was nothing to be heard except ripples lapping quietly against the sand. A
