Harriet was the last
to turn in. Before doing so she drew the unoccupied half of the canvas
over the girls, leaving Tommy at the fold, as had been promised. There
were no pillows. It was a case of lying stretched out flat or using
one's arm for a pillow. The latter plan was adopted by most of the
girls, though Harriet lay flat on her back after tucking herself in,
gazing up at the stars and listening to the surf beating on the shore
as the tide came rolling in. Now and then a roller showed a white
ridge at its top, the white plainly visible even in the darkness, for
the moon had not yet risen.
The campfire burned low, the camp itself being as silent as if
deserted. Now and then twitterings in the tree tops might have been
heard; were heard, in fact, by Harriet Burrell, but not heeded, for
her gaze was fixed, as it had been for some moments, on two tiny
specks of light far out on the dark sea. One of the specks was green,
the other red. They rose and fell in unison, now and then disappearing
for a few seconds, then rising, high in the air, as it appeared. The
two lights were the side lights of a boat, red on the port and green
on the starboard, and above them was a single white light at the
masthead.
"According to those lights the boat is heading directly toward the
beach," mused Harriet reflectively.
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