Sally was glad to come. And first we went out on the point and had a good look at the storm. The waves at our feet were breaking big and wild, the wind was groaning and howling as if it had a mortal stomach-ache, and about a mile out was a kind of thick curtain of perpendicular lines, with dark, squally shadows at its base. "Sam!" cried Sally, "it's snow--snow," and she began to jump up and down. In a minute or two flakes began to hit us wet slaps in the face, and we took hands and danced, and then ran (there must have been something intoxicating about that storm) all the way to the pier. And there was the captain of the motor-boat just stepping ashore. "The man himself," said Sally. "Captain," said I, "how are we off for boats?" By good-luck there were in commission only the motor-boat, and the row-boat that she towed behind, and a canoe in the loft of the boat-house. "Captain," I said, "take the _Hobo_ (that was the name of the motor-boat) and her tender to City Island, and don't come back till Wednesday morning, in time for the Wall Street special." "When you get to City Island," said Sally, "try to look crippled." "Not you," I said, "but the _Hobo_." "Tell them," said Sally, "if they ask questions, that you were blown from your moorings, and that you couldn't get back in the teeth of the gale because--because--" "Because," said I, "your cylinders slipped, and your clutch missed fire, and your carbureter was full of prunes." "In other words," said Sally, "if anybody ever asks you anything about anything--lie." We gave him a lot more instructions, and some eloquent money, and he said, "Very good, ma'am," to me, and "Very good, miss," to Sally, and pretty soon he, and the _Hobo_, and the engineer, and the _Hobo's_ crew of one, and the tender were neatly blown from their moorings, and drifted helplessly toward City Island at the rate of twenty-two miles an hour. Then Sally and I (it was snowing hard, now) climbed into the loft of the boat-house, and _fixed_ the canoe. "There," said Sally, putting down her little hatchet, "I don't believe the most God-fearing banker in this world would put to sea in that! Well, Sam, we've done it now." "We have," said I. "Will Monday never come?" said Sally. "Stop," said I; "the telephone." Idle Island was moored to the mainland by a telephone cable. It took us nearly an hour to find where this slipped into the water. And we were tired and hungry and wet and cold, but we simply had to persevere. It was frightful. At length we found the thing--it looked like a slimy black snake--and we cut it, where the water was a foot deep--the water bit my wrists and ankles as sharply as if it had been sharks--and went back to the house through the storm. It was as black as night (the weather, not the house), snowing furiously and howling. We crept into the house like a couple of sneak-thieves, and heard Billoo at his very loudest shouting: