  The girls were as eager as the boy to view the old ruin from the water, and the breeze being brisk, they were quickly blown down the coast and into the quiet sheltered water beyond the point. “O, Gib,” Dories cried fearfully, “do be careful! There are logs under the water along here that come nearly to the top. Is it a wreck?” “No, ’taint. It’s all that’s left of the long dock I was tellin’ yo’ about whar the Phantom Yacht used to tie up. Pa said ol’ Colonel Wadbury had lights clear to the end of it and that, when ’twas lit up, ’twas a purty sight.” “It must have been,” Nann agreed. Then Dories inquired: “Doesn’t it make you feel strange to realize that you are on the very spot where the Phantom Yacht once sailed?” “And where some day it may sail again,” Nann completed. The high rocky point cut off the wind and so Gib let the sail flap as they slowly drifted toward the swamp. “Thar’s all that’s left of that sea wall I was tellin’ about,” the boy nodded at huge rocks half sunken in mire. “The reeds are higher than our heads,” Dories commented; then she asked, “Is there a path through the marsh, do you think, Gib?” “No, I’m sure thar ain’t one,” the boy declared. “Me’n Dick Burton would have found it if thar had been. We’ve looked times enough from the land side. We never could get here by water, bein’ as we didn’t have a boat. That’s why I’ve been savin’ to get a punt. Dick, he put in some toward it, an’ so its half his’n.” “Who is Dick Burton?” Nann inquired. “Didn’t I tell you?” Gib seemed surprised. “Sort o’ thought o’ course you knew ’bout the Burtons. Dick’s folks own the cabin that’s nearest the rocks. He’s a city feller ’bout my age, or a leetle older, I reckon. He’s been comin’ to these parts ever since we was shavers. You’d ought to know him,” this to Nann, “he lives in Boston, whar you come from.” The girl addressed laughed good-naturedly. “Gib,” she queried, “have you ever been up to Boston?” The boy reluctantly confessed that he had not. Then the girl explained that since it was much larger than Siquaw Center, two people might live there forever and not become acquainted. “Yeah.” Gib had evidently not been listening to the last part of Nann’s remark. “I do wish Dick was here now that we’ve got the punt,” he said. “I sure sartin wish he was.” “Why?” Dories inquired as she let one hand drift in the cool water. “Wall, me’n he allays thought maybe thar was a channel through the swamp up toward the old ruin. If he was here we’d set out to find it.” “But why can’t Dori and I help you as much as he could?” Nann queried. “I believe you are right, Gib,” she continued before the boy had time to reply. “I’ve seen swamps before, and there was always a narrow channel through them where the tide washed when it was high. See ahead there, where the swamp comes down to the water’s edge, I wish you’d take the sail down, Gib, and row as close to it as you can.” The boy looked his amazement. “But, I say, Miss Nann, like’s not we’d hit a snag, like’s not we would.” “Who’s skeered now?” the girl taunted. The boy flushed. “Not me!” he protested, and taking down the sail he rowed along the water side of the dense reedy growths. “Yo’ see thar’s nothin’,” he began when Nann, leaning forward, pointed as she cried excitedly, “There it is! There’s an opening in the swamp leading right up to that haunted house.” Nann was right. A narrow channel of clear water appeared among the reeds that were higher than their heads. It led toward the middle of the marsh and was wide enough for a larger boat than theirs to pass through. “Now, the next question is, do we dare go in?” Nann was gleeful over her find and how she wished that Gib’s friend, Dick Burton, were there to share with them that exciting moment. “Well, that question is easy to answer,” Dories hastened to say. “We most certainly do not dare.” The boy, having removed his nondescript cap, was scratching his ear in a way that he always did when puzzled. Then there was a sudden eager light in his red-brown eyes. Replacing his hat, he seized the oars and began to row rapidly back up the shore and toward the row of eight cottages. Nann was puzzled and voiced her curiosity. “Got to get back to Siquaw in time for the ten-ten train,” was all the information she received. Since he had said nothing of this when they started out, and had seemed to be in no hurry whatever, Nann naturally wondered about it. Some light might have been thrown on his action had she seen him, one hour later, as he sat on the high stool at his father’s desk in the general store. He was painstakingly writing, and, when the ten-ten train arrived, Gibralter Strait was on the platform waiting to send to the nearby city of Boston the very first letter that he had ever written. |
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