at high tide, or when there was any sea on," returned her brother.
"That's the place!" exclaimed Ruth. "See that white thing fluttering again? That's no seagull."
"Ruth is right," gasped Helen. "Oh, Tom! there's something fluttering there—a handkerchief, is it?"
"Sing out! as loud as ever you can!" commanded the boy, eagerly. "Hail the rock."
They all three raised their voices. There was no answer. But Tom was pointing the boat's nose directly for the opening between the sharp ledges.
"If there is nobody on the Thimble now, there has been somebody there recently," he declared. "I'm going to drop the sail and run in there. Stand by with the oars to fend off, girls. We don't want to scratch the catboat more than we can help."
His sister and Ruth sprang to obey him. Each with an oar stood at either rail and the big sail came down on the run. But the Jennie S. had headway sufficient to bring her straight into the opening between the ledges.
Tom ran forward, seized the rope in the bow, and leaped ashore, carrying the coil of the painter with him. Helen and Ruth succeeded in stopping the boat's headway with the oars, and the craft
