A few moments later he stumped into the room again, puffing like a grampus and dripping wet. In his arms he clutched a bundle of weatherworn oilskins.
“Phew, blime ’e hif hit ain’t rainin’,” said he as he deposited the bundle of clothing on the floor. “’Ere’s a lot o’ cast-hoffs as I’ve ’ad a ’angin’ hin t’ boat ’ouse fer this long time. Some o’ ’em is putty much worn, but they’ll shed water in spots henywi’. Sort ’em hout, lads.”
Jack and Ray began rummaging through the bundle of yellowish gray garments and in no time they were decked out in weatherproof clothes. Of course they wore their regular clothing underneath, as did Old Mitchell, but even at that the lobsterman’s cast-offs were far too large for them.
“Some fit,” said Jack as he waved a far too long sleeve in the air.
“Huh, two of us could get into this jacket, but just the same I’m glad to have ’em. I’m ready to start--how about you?” said Ray, as he gathered his precious model up under his arms and started for the door. Jack followed him and the lobsterman, after a glance about the cottage and a last poke at the dying fire in the stove, followed the two boys.
The moment they emerged, the lads had to brace themselves to keep from being blown down. The wind swooped around the corner of the little cottage and tore at their garments madly, while the big raindrops beat into their faces.
“Jiminy, some storm”, growled Ray as he forced his so’wester down over his eyes.
“Hit’s blowin’ some ’at,” assured the lobsterman as he pulled his collar up higher and stumped forward in the lead of the little party.
Jack was on the point of making an appropriate remark also, but the wind snatched the words from between his teeth, it seemed, and he decided after that to conserve his energies for the fight against the storm.
Mitchell apparently followed some sort of a path through the forest that clad the top of the island, for he wound his way in and out among the trees in a peculiar manner. But if there was a path, the boys could not detect it. All they did was follow the one-legged old man who silently fought his way against the wind. Although the pine trees were many and their foliage thick, the wind seemed just as strong in the woods as out in the little opening around the lobsterman’s cottage. It blew a veritable hurricane, it seemed to Jack, and the tall trees bent and swayed in a most awe-inspiring manner. In truth, branches were literally torn from some of them and here and there the lads found a big timber that had been uprooted and flung aside by the elements exactly as if it had been no heavier than a clump of bay berry bushes.