Part 9 (1/2)

”I thought she would just row around the island, and then come back and hail us, at all events,” said Eunice, laying down her book and standing up to give the call. The ”wah-whoo-wah!” rang across the water, but brought no answering cry. They gave it again and again, with no better success.

”What geese we were to let that child go away with the boat!” exclaimed Edna, vexedly. ”We should have known better. Likely as not she's rowed over to Plymouth and forgotten us entirely. Let's go up and see if we can see her from the top of the rocks.”

Accordingly they climbed to the highest point. It was high noon now, by the sun, and very hot. Not a sail was in sight, nor even a rowboat anywhere.

Everybody had evidently been driven in by the heat, which was intense.

The tide was going out, and soon a mud-flat would lie between them and the home sh.o.r.e.

”Gracious, isn't it sizzling hot!” cried Eunice, shading her eyes. ”The heat just quavers up from these rocks. I believe a coffee-pot would boil if you put it on top of my head. Where _is_ Cricket?”

”The tide is going out very fast,” said Edna, anxiously. ”Look at the high-water mark. If we're not off here in less than half an hour we have to wait till the tide is up again. That's a nice prospect, too, to stay here and broil all the afternoon.”

”Horrors!” cried Eunice. ”I like to stay here when I want to, but I don't want to be made to. When could we get off, then?” for Eunice knew much less accurately the times and tides than Edna, who always spent her summers at Marbury.

”It was high tide at eight this morning, so it won't be entirely out till two. But you know there is about an hour and a half before ebb tide that the flats are bare, and, of course, it's the same time after that before enough water comes in to float a boat. I don't believe it's more than twelve now. Think of staying here till, say, four o'clock.

Let's call again. She might be over on the other side of Clark's Island.”

”Wah-whoo-wah! Wah-whoo-wah! Come _back_, Cricket! Wah-whoo-wah!” Eunice sent her clear, strong voice ringing across the smooth waters, but with no better success than before.

”You don't suppose she's purposely hiding somewhere, do you?” asked Edna, doubtfully.

”No, indeed,” returned Eunice, promptly. ”She's only forgotten, if anything, unless something has happened to her,” she added, somewhat anxiously.

”Nothing could happen in Marbury Bay,” replied Edna, positively. ”It's the safest old hole. And since we are not really in the South Sea Islands, there aren't any cannibals to eat her up.”

The island was only about a mile and a half from sh.o.r.e, and they could plainly see grandma's house on the Neck. Not a soul was in sight, not even Eliza and the children.

”Let's wave a handkerchief,” suggested Eunice, looking for hers, ”for the boys may see it and come out for us.”

”It's not much use,” said Edna, ”for I don't believe any one would notice a little white handkerchief fluttering over here, and, besides, I'm getting dreadfully afraid that there isn't time for any one to pull out here and get us in before the tide would be so far out that we would stick in the mud. You see the bottom is so flat that the water goes out very quickly. But let's try a handkerchief.”

”I haven't any with me,” said Eunice. ”Take yours.”

”Bother! I haven't either. Oh, there's a boat coming past. If that man would take us in, we might just get to the sh.o.r.e. Wave _something_.

Call! Call!”

The girls shouted vigorously, but the little rowboat aggravatingly kept on its way, the oarsman having his back towards them. Then he turned his course a little, keeping in the channel where the water was deeper.

”What _can_ we wave?”

”Take your work, Edna. Tie it to a stick.”

”Tie my work to a _stick_? Why, it would ruin it.”

”No, it wouldn't. What if it did? We don't want to stay here all day;”

and Eunice caught the linen scarf from Edna's half-unwilling hand, and, tying it to a stick, waved it furiously.

”Oh, dear, I wonder if it will ruin it? Wave harder, Eunice.

Wah-whoo-wah! Why don't you turn, whoever you are! I wonder if I can iron it out,” went on poor Edna, distracted between the fear of injury to her beloved work and her desire to get off the island. But the little boat pulled swiftly down the channel, its owner evidently not desirous of being caught himself on the mud-flats, and was soon a speck on the water.