Annie was silenced, but it was only too clear that she was not entirely convinced.  Her brother’s absence and all their anxiety were positively due to Dab Kinzer, and his wicked, dangerous little yacht; and he must be to blame somehow.

She could not help “waiting a while,” as her father bade her; but her eyes already told that she had been doing more than wait.

Summer days are long; but some of them are a good deal longer than others, and that was one of the longest any of those people had ever known.

For once, even dinner was more than half neglected in the Kinzer family circle.  At the Fosters’ it was forgotten almost altogether.  Long as the day was, and so dreary, in spite of all the bright, warm sunshine, there was no help for it:  the hours would not hurry, and the wanderers would not return.  Tea-time came at last; and with it the Fosters all came over to Mrs. Kinzer’s again, to take tea, and tell her of several fishermen who had returned from the bay without having discovered a sign of “The Swallow” or its crew.

Stout-hearted Mrs. Kinzer talked bravely and encouragingly, nevertheless, and did not seem to abate an ounce of her confidence in her son.  It seemed as if, in leaving off his roundabouts, particularly considering the way in which he had left them off, Dabney must have suddenly grown a great many “sizes” in his mother’s estimation.  Perhaps, too, that was because he had not left them off any too soon.

There they sat around the tea-table, the two mothers and all the rest of them, looking gloomy enough; while over there in her bit of a brown house, in the village, sat Mrs. Lee in very much the same frame of mind, trying to relieve her feelings by smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her boy’s best clothes, and planning for him any number of bright red neckties, if he would only come back to wear them.

The neighbors were becoming more than a little interested, and even excited about the matter; but what was there to be done?

Telegrams had been sent to other points on the coast, and all the fishermen notified.  It was really one of those puzzling cases, where even the most neighborly can do no better than “wait a while.”

Still, there were more than a dozen people, of all sorts, including Bill Lee, lingering around the “landing” as late as eight o’clock that evening.

Suddenly one of them exclaimed,—­

“There’s a light coming in!”

Others followed with,—­

“There’s a boat under it!”

“Ham’s boat carried a light.”

“I’ll bet it’s her!”

“No, it isn’t”—­

“Hold on and see.”

There was not long to “hold on;” for in three minutes more “The Swallow” swept gracefully in with the tide, and the voice of Dab Kinzer shouted merrily,—­

“Home again!  Here we are!”

Such a ringing volley of cheers answered him!

It was heard and understood away there in the parlor of the Morris house, and brought every soul of that anxious circle right up standing.