afloat, ain't you. Cal'late you'll have
to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats. I forgot about
the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much. Hello! there's another craft
about your size off yonder. Somebody else out rowin'. Two somebodys. My
eyes ain't as good for pickin' em out as they used to be, but one of 'em
IS a female, ain't it?"

I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in the
middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.

"That ain't a dory or a skiff," shouted Ben, raising his voice as
I pulled away from him. "Way she sets out of water I'd call her a
lap-streak dingy. If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin' he'll have
to work his passage home against this tide . . . Well, so long, Ros.
Come again."

I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal longer
this time on account of the ebb. There was water enough on this side of
the bay, but on the village side the channel made a wide detour and
I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile up the bay, before
turning in behind the long sand bar which made out from the point beyond
my boathouse.

The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of the
tide more than offset this advantage. However, I had mastered that tide
many times before and, except that the delay might make me late for
dinner, the prospect did not trouble me. I swung into the channel and
set the skiff's bow against the current. Then from the beach I had just
left I heard a faint hail. Turning my head, I saw Ben Small waving his
arms. He was shouting something, too, but I was too far away to catch
the words.

The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave. I lifted an oar to show
that he had my attention. He recognized the signal, and began pointing
out over the water astern of me. I looked where he was pointing. I could
not see anything out of the ordinary. Except for my own skiff and the
gulls, and the row boat with the two persons in it there was nothing
astir on the bay. But Ben kept on waving and pointing. At last I decided
that it must be the row boat he was pointing at. I stopped rowing and
looked.

The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but specks.
Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms. So far as I could
see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of sunlight on wet
blades to show that the oars were in use. No, it was drifting, and, as I
looked, it swung br