and swiftly and safely "The Swallow" was bearing her precious
cargo across the summer sea; but the morning had brought no comfort to
the two homes at the head of the inlet, or the humble cabin in the
village. Old Bill Lee was out in the best boat he could borrow, by early
daylight; and more than one of his sympathizing neighbors followed him a
little later. There was no doubt at all that a thorough search would be
made of the bay and the island, and so Mr. Foster wisely remained at
home to comfort his wife and daughter.

"That sort of boy," mourned Annie, "is always getting into some kind of
mischief."

"Annie!" exclaimed her mother indignantly, "Ford is a good boy, and he
does not run into mischief."

"I didn't mean Ford: I meant that Dabney Kinzer. I wish we'd never seen
him, or his sailboat either."

"Annie," remarked her father a little reprovingly, "if we live by the
water, Ford _will_ go out on it, and he had better do so in good
company. Wait a while."

Annie was silenced, but it was only too clear that she was not entirely
convinced. Her brother's absence and all their anxiety were positively
due to Dab Kinzer, and his wicked, dangerous little yacht; and he must
be to blame somehow.

She could not help "waiting a while," as her father bade her; but her
eyes already told that she had been doing more than wait.

Summer days are long; but some of them are a good deal longer than
others, and that was one of the longest any of those people had ever
known.

For once, even dinner was more than half neglected in the Kinzer family
circle. At the Fosters' it was forgotten almost altogether. Long as the
day was, and so dreary, in spite of all the bright, warm sunshine, there
was no help for it: the hours would not hurry, and the wanderers would
not return. Tea-time came at last; and with it the Fosters all came over
to Mrs. Kinzer's again, to take tea, and tell her of several fishermen
who had returned from the bay without having discovered a sign of "The
Swallow" or its crew.

Stout-hearted Mrs. Kinzer talked bravely and encouragingly,
nevertheless, and did not seem to abate an ounce of her confidence in
her son. It seemed as if, in leaving off his roundabouts, particularly
considering the way in which he had left them off, Dabney must have
suddenly grown a great many "sizes" in his mother's estimation. Perhaps,
too, that was because he had not left them off any too soon.

There they sat around the tea-table,