Scarcely knowing what they did, they staggered up the beach a little
way, and flung themselves down on the shingle.
Two hours passed before Arthur Miles awoke. The sun had climbed over
the low cliff to the eastward of the cove, and shone on his lids.
It seemed to him that his feet were lying in water.
So indeed they were, for the tide had risen and .was running around his
ankles. But while he sat up, wondering at this new marvel, Tilda gave a
cry and pointed.
The boat had vanished.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ISLAND.
"_Be not afraid; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not._"--THE TEMPEST.
"Well," said Tilda dolefully, "I guess that about settles us!"
The boy, his hands thrust into his breeches' pockets, stared over the
sea for a while.
"I don't see that it matters much," he answered at length, withdrawing
his gaze. "You know well enough we could never have worked her back
again."
"Oh, indeed? And 'ow are we goin' to pick up our vittles? I don't know
what _you_ feel like, but I could do with breakfast a'ready."
"Perhaps 'Dolph can catch us a rabbit," he suggested hopefully after a
pause.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353