"Isn't it aggravating?" cried Martine, "to have to stand here and wait, when the distance across to Kittery is so little."
"There's nothing to do but wait," replied Clare.
Martine followed the direction in which she pointed, and saw an old man in a row-boat approaching the pier.
The two friends, with Angelina following close behind, stood on the end of the pier while the old man was mooring his boat.
"Will you row us over to the other side?" asked Martine.
He paid no attention to them, but continued tying a knot in his rope. The question was repeated in a slightly different form, and still the old man made no answer.
"Or the wind's blowing in the wrong direction," said Clare. "We must wait till he comes up to us."
When the old man approached, by signs and words they made him understand what they wished, and he smiled pleasantly when Clare put a dollar bill in his hand.
"It's worth it," she said in an aside to Martine. "If we cross with him, we shall save two hours on our homeward journey."
So the old man untied his boat, which was ample enough for the four, and the girls quickly took their places.
"I can't say that I like a deaf boatman," said Clare, "in case of an accident we might find it awkward that he can't hear."
"An accident!" exclaimed Martine, who seldom feared any unseen things; "there certainly could be no accident in this quiet water." Before they had gone very far, however, she began to change her mind. The breeze which they had noticed while they were on the landing, now seemed to be blowing violently, and despite its heavy freight the boat rocked violently; it not only rocked, but veered from its course. Martine held her breath, while the excitable Angelina began to scream.
"Hush! hush!" said Martine, "it's nothing."
"Nothing?" cried Angelina, as a great wave broke over the end of the boat, half drenching her.
"It's only the Piscataqua current," said Clare. "But ask him if there's any danger."
The boatman ignored the question. Probably he had not heard it. A great wave slapped the boat sidewise, and this time Clare's screams were added to Angelina's. Billows rose all around them. Apparently they were no longer on the surface of a quiet river, but in the midst of a disturbed ocean and their boat was small. Martine kept her eyes on the distant shore; she saw that they were approaching it, slow though their progress was. The old man seemed to be doing his best, when suddenly one of his oars broke and they heard him mutter, "that's bad." Bad, it certainly was; even Martine's courage waned. One thing, however, led her to hope that they might escape disaster. She had noticed a little boat pushing out from the other side. How rapidly it seemed to approach! Very soon after the old man's oar snapped, she recognized one of the rowers in the approaching boat. It was Herbert Brownville.