"I guess you had better pole her off," replied Tom. Nevertheless, he did as Dick requested, working like a beaver.
The wind was still faint, and when the mainsail was hoisted it failed to fill. Seeing this, Dick seized a pole and Tom did the same.
They speedily found that they could not send the yacht out any distance. But, with a pole at the bow and another at the stern, they managed to keep her off the rocks until the rollers began to go down. Then they shoved off with ease and moved slowly up the river.
"I'll tell you what, in handling a boat you have got to have your weather eye open all the time," observed Tom.
"Yes, and you want to have it open on all sides of you," smiled Dick. "If you don't, you'll catch it before you are aware."
Sam lay on one of the tiny berths with which the Spray was provided. His face was deathly white, and, to use his own words, he felt "as weak as a rag."
"I'm just beginning to realize how close to death I was," he whispered to Tom. "It was awfully good of you and Dick to do what you did."
"Pooh! you would do just as much for us, Sam," answered the fun-loving brother. But,
