as comfortable as possible on their improvised raft.
The thought that Tom might have been drowned cast a gloom over Sam and Dick and also made Hans feel bad. Consequently but little was said for the next few hours. All kept their eyes strained for the sight of some friendly light, but none came to view.
"How many miles do you think we are from shore?" asked Sam, presently.
"I haven't any idea," answered Dick. "At least fifty or a hundred."
"Ve vill nefer see der land again!" groaned Hans. "I vish ve had gone to dot Dampa py railroad drain, ain't it!"
"Well, even railroad trains occasionally have smash-ups," answered Dick, philosophically.
At last it began to grow light and with the coming of morning the mist lifted a trifle, so that they were able to see around them. A gentle breeze was blowing, causing the bosom of the gulf to ruffle up. Sam climbed up to the top of the crates.
"See anything?" queried his brother.
"Well, I never!" ejaculated the youngest Rover. "If that doesn't beat the nation!"
He pointed off to their left and then all looked—and actually laughed. And well might they do so.
