It was indeed as Betsy had said. “Oh, Virginia, what shall we do?” Sally clung to the oldest girl, her baby-blue eyes wide with terror.

The president of The Adventure Club was as frightened as were the others, but she said with assumed calm, “Let us remember what Mrs. Martin has often told us. When an emergency arises, try to think clearly, and a way out of the trouble will be found. Now, whatever we do, don’t let’s lose our heads.”

“I’m holding on to mine,” the irrepressible Betsy said gaily, suiting the action to the words. Virg continued, “We have all had first aid training, but unfortunately Miss King never foresaw that we would be set afloat in a boat at sea.”

“Of course one should put on life belts,” Eleanor remarked, “but those that we found were but crumbling cork.”

Because of the outgoing tide the boat was being rapidly carried away from shore. Virginia eagerly scanned the receding beach, then the cliff, but not a sign of life was to be seen. In the far distance she could see the tower of the seminary but that was at least two miles away.

The other girls were watching her, feeling sure that she would find some way out of their trouble. “We might shout, all together, and wave our colored sweater coats, but I don’t believe anyone would see or hear,” Margaret suggested.

It was then that Eleanor noticed that there were no sails. “Girls,” she exclaimed in dismay. “I was going to suggest that we put up the sails and return to the shore, but there aren’t any. It’s just a dismantled old hulk set afloat to sink, or fall to pieces. The incoming tide washed it against that dilapidated old dock, and the outgoing tide is now taking it to sea.”

“And taking us with it!” wailed Barbara.

The six girls seated themselves on the benches under the rails and looked at each other in despair. Suddenly Betsy laughed. Her friends always said that she would laugh at her own funeral.

“Well, anyway,” she announced, “we’re having what we wished for. The Adventure Club is having an adventure.”

Virginia, being the oldest girl and president of the club, felt that she was really responsible for all that had happened. “I ought to have insisted that we go back when I first felt—well—as though something was going to happen—something tragic.”

Margaret looked up with interest. “Virg, did you feel that way? So did I, but I didn’t want to spoil Betsy’s fun by grumping about her plan.”

“I’ll take the blame, that is, I mean, with Mrs. Martin,” that maiden said meekly, then added with her inevitable desire to tease. “Sally is the only one of us who is ready to die. She knows how to play a harp.”

“What time is it, Megs?” Virg asked, then added, as the thought came to her, “You’d better wind your watch, dear. We’d feel so helpless if it ran down.”

“If Winona were with us, she could tell time by the sun,” Babs volunteered. “She gave me a few lessons. Wait a minute till I try.” Then, a second later, she continued. “The month being May, I believe that it is now about four o’clock, since it is dark at seven.”

“Right you are! It is two minutes to four.” Megsy was winding her wrist watch as she spoke.

Luckily the old fishing smack had no water in the hold, and so, unsafe as it looked, it evidently did not leak.

“Which is one comfort, surely,” Barbara remarked.

The boat had drifted beyond the shelter of the out-jutting promintory, and an increasing land breeze was blowing them steadily out to sea.

The gentle, even roll of the waves rocked the boat and poor little Sally was the first to become pale and ill. This added to their anxiety. Virginia insisted that the youngest girl lie down upon the deck. With her own sweater, she made a rolled pillow while Megsy offered her sweater coat for a covering.

For a long hour the fishing smack slowly drifted. Suddenly Betsy gave a cry of joy. “Lookee! Look yonder! Surely that is a steamer. Let’s all stand up on the seats and wave something. Maybe they will see us through their glasses and come to our rescue.”

This they did, but the steamer, plying its way, many miles out at sea, did not veer from its course and soon disappeared in the fog that was slowly creeping shoreward.

“Virg, I don’t believe I can keep calm much longer,” Barbara said, turning toward the oldest girl, a pretty face that quivered. “I—I feel so terribly frightened deep inside.”

“I know, dear, but we must keep up our spirits. It won’t help in the least for us to cry, or get panicky. We want to be able to think clearly if the time comes to act.” Virginia held the hand of Babs in a tight, comforting clasp. “My theory is that when the tide turns we will drift back to the shore again. We must help each other by trying to be brave. When something has really happened, it will be time enough to give up hope.”

“Virg, you’re a wonder!” Eleanor said admiringly. “I, for one, shall not give up hope until you do.”

A grateful glance was the only reply the speaker received, and she was satisfied. But, during the hour that followed, it was very hard for Virginia to keep the younger girls brave and hopeful, for a dense wet fog settled about them, and the setting sun, after glaring red like a ball of fire in the mist, sank, leaving the unwilling voyagers hungry, cold and altogether miserable.

“Girls,” Virginia said in a tone of authority, “I want you all to go down in the hold. At least it is sheltered there from this wet wind. I will stay on deck and watch for the light of a steamer.”

Margaret and Eleanor protested. “Let three go down and three remain on watch for a few hours, then change about as real sailors do,” Megsy suggested.

“Please let me do it my way.” Virginia’s voice sounded so imploring that the other girls went below decks, and, letting down the two old bunks, they huddled upon them to keep warm.

Betsy, bent on keeping up the spirits of her comrades, began to sing, but Babs hushed her. “Don’t!” she begged. “You’ll make me cry.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Betsy stopped singing to suggest, “let’s each take a turn at crying, while one of us counts fifty. A girl always thinks she has to cry, and the sooner we get the tears spilled out, and done with, the better. Now Babs, one, two, three.”

Betsy’s monotonous recital of the numbers ended abruptly for Babs had laughingly clapped her hand over the mouth of her tormentor.

“I’m not going to cry, really. None of us are. We’d be ashamed to, with Virg so brave, up there all alone on deck.”

For a while they were silent. The swish of the water against the sides of the boat had a lulling sound, and, one by one, the girls made themselves as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances, and went to sleep.

Meanwhile, Virginia, alone on the deck, knelt down in silent, strength-giving prayer. A fog-horn, from somewhere, sounded dismally at intervals. Margaret, unable to sleep long, soon slipped up on the deck, and, groping her way toward her friend, she sat close beside her and reached for her hand and so they sat, waiting, watching as the dark hours slowly passed.

New hope crept into the heart of Virginia with the coming of the dawn.