"The fishermen have power-boats," Garth contested, "and no one else would be out so early. They're fresh-water lubbers at the hotel. Besides, I know the Ailouros just—just the way I know Fogger or anybody else."
Joan shook her head and would not be consoled nor convinced. They went back and lay on the dry sand, for dew still clung to the rough grass on the crest of Trasket Rock. They watched the shadows of the rocks spring out on the sand as the sun rose higher, the gulls that flashed screaming overhead—golden light on white wings,—the brightening green of distant fields as the mainland woke in the young daylight. They rummaged the picnic-basket finally and discovered two overlooked crackers, on which they pounced.
"Hardtack, sir, but better'n naught," Joan observed, munching her share. "If we be stranded here long, we'll be put to it; birds'-nesting and crab-catching for our fare, like enough."
Then after a time the Ailouros, unmistakable now, came swinging in beside the beach, and Jim hove to and hailed them. Joan ran down to the water's edge.
