"Why," she said, "it is gone now; I cannot see it at all any more."
"The best luck that could happen to us. Now we will widen the stretch
of water as much as possible." I leaned over, and clawed about until I
found the discarded oilskins, and wrapped them about her, despite
protests.
"No, not another word, young lady. I shall have to work and cannot be
bothered with such things, while you must sit there and hold that oar
until we have some sail spread. This mist is as bad as rain; your
jacket is soaked already. Have n't you learned yet to obey your
captain's orders?"
"I was never very good at that."
"Obeying, you mean? Well, you have no choice now. Hold steady while I
step the mast."
Fortunately the spar was not a heavy one. Except for the roll of the
boat I could have handled it alone, but fearful of capsizing, I lashed
the oar into position, and she helped me steady it down until it rested
solidly in the socket. Our eyes met.
"You are not so frightened now."
"Not when I am busy; it--it was being left alone, and--and thought of
that drowned man."
"Of course, but my being here makes a difference?"
"Always," she confessed frankly. "Somehow I can never be afraid with
you. But--but what shall we do now?"
"I hardly know what to put you at--oh, yes, here is a tin, and you can
bail out this water sloshing about in the bottom.
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