"Do you mean to sail home?" asked Ford, in some astonishment. "Why not? If we could do it in the night and in a storm, we surely can in a day of such splendid weather as is coming. The wind's all right too, what there is of it." [Illustration: THE WELCOME ON THE BEACH.] CHAPTER XIII. The wind was indeed "all right," but even Dab forgot, for the moment, that the "Swallow" would go further and faster before a gale than she was likely to with the comparatively mild southerly breeze which was blowing. He was by no means likely to get home by dinner-time. As for danger, there would be absolutely none, unless the weather should again become stormy, which was not at all probable at that season. And so, with genuine boyish confidence in boys, after some further conversation over the rail, Frank Harley went on board the "Swallow" as a passenger, and the gay little craft slipped lightly away from the neighborhood of the very forlorn-looking stranded steamer. "They'll have her off in less'n a week," said Ford to Frank. "My father'll know just what to do about your baggage, and so forth." There were endless questions to be asked and answered on both sides, but at last Dab yawned a very sleepy yawn and said: "Ford, you've had your nap. Wake up Dick there, and let him take his turn at the tiller. The sea's as smooth as a lake, and I believe I'll go to sleep for an hour or so. You and Frank keep watch while Dick steers." Whatever Dab said was "orders," now, on board the "Swallow," and Ford's only reply was: "If you haven't earned a good nap, then nobody has." In five minutes more the patient and skillful young "captain" was sleeping like a top. "Look at him," said Ford Foster to Frank Harley. "I don't know what he's made of. He's been at that tiller for twenty-three hours, by the watch, in all sorts of weather, and never budged." "They don't make that kind of boy in India," replied Frank. "He's de best feller you ebber seen," added Dick Lee. "I's jes' proud of 'im, I is." Smoothly 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 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, "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 sail-boat either." "Annie," said her father, reprovingly, "if we live by the water, Ford _will_ go out on it, and he'd better do so in good company. Wait a while."