“We’d better start back,” I said.  “I’m afraid we’ll be late for the next ferry, as it is, and Father and Mother will be home on the six o’clock train.”

“Whew!” said Jerry, “I’d forgotten that.  It’s latish already, judging by the sun.  Come along, Greg, and loop up your sash so you won’t fall off this beast.”

It was latish.  The sun was quite low, and we saw that the Sea Monster threw a long, queer shadow on the water, as if the sea had been land.  We hurried along to the boat, Jerry ahead.

“She’s all right,” he shouted, turning around.

When he turned back he made a sort of wild spring that I didn’t understand at first.  Then I saw the stone we had put over the rope rolling off the rock,—­joggled off by the boat’s pulling harder when a wave lifted it.  The stone rolled in cornery bounces, with a dull noise, and the rope slipped after it slowly.  I thought Jerry would be in time.  I couldn’t believe that I really saw the rope floating its whole length on the water, dry at first, then darkening wetly.

“Hang on, Chris!” Jerry said.  “I can get it.”

I caught his hand, and he snatched after the rope.  But he plunged wildly, nearly pulling me in, and scrambled up at once with one leg wet to the hip.

“There’s no bottom at all,” he said queerly.  “I believe the thing rises straight out of the sea.”

By that time the boat was ten feet away from the Monster.  It circled once, very quietly, as if it were trying to decide which way to go, and then it drifted gently away toward the sea, with the rope trailing along like a snake swimming beside it.

We stood there looking at the boat until it faded to a hazy speck, and by that time the sun was really low.  I don’t think Greg altogether realized what had happened.  We’d played at being marooned so often that I suppose he didn’t quite see that this was different.

I hope that I shall never, never forget, as long as I live, what a brick Jerry was through the whole of that nightmarish thing.  I know I never shall.

“Chris,” he said, “you stay on this side.  I’ll go around to the Headland side.  Greg, you climb up on top.  If any of us sees a boat near enough to do any good, call the others, and we’ll all yell and wave things.”

I’d never heard his voice so commanding, even in plays.  He still had on the cocked hat, and it looked very strange indeed.  We scattered as he ordered, and when the others had gone, I remembered that Greg had on slippery-soled shoes instead of sneakers, which we usually wear.  I thought of calling after him to be careful, but he never was a falling-down sort of person, even as a baby.  I hoped, too, that he would have sense enough to loop up that sash or take it off entirely.