I sat on the Wecanicut side and stared at the shore and the water till my eyes ached.  More and more wind was blowing all the time, straight from Wecanicut.  It blew so hard in my face that my eyes watered and I couldn’t be sure whether or not I did see boats.  In books, people think of all their past sins when they’re in perilous positions, but all I could think of was that a boat must come before dark.  I did think of how much it all was my fault, but that was not far enough in the past to count.  Presently Jerry came back and said that if we moved a little toward each other we could see just as much of the bay and consult at the same time.  So we did, and sat down not very far apart. I said that I supposed we ought to change off with Greg, because it was horrid lonely up there, but Jerry said: 

“Nonsense; he likes to be alone.  He’s probably pretending he’s the King of the Cannibal Isle, or something, and not worrying a bit.”

“I was looking us up in the dictionary the other day,” I said, trying to forget the Sea Monster for a minute, “and Gregory means ’watchful, vigilant’.”

“Now’s the first time he’s ever lived up to his name, then,” said Jerry.  “Keep looking, Chris, and don’t moon about.”

We sat there for quite a long time without saying anything, and the last little golden sliver of sun disappeared behind the point, and the lighthouse on the Headland came out suddenly, though it was still quite light, and began to wink—­two long flashes and two short ones.

“Isn’t it queer,” Jerry said, “to think that people are there and we can’t possibly tell them.”

“It’s worse than queer,” I said.

Then we were still again, till presently Jerry said: 

“Do you hear that funny noise, Chris?”

I had been listening to it just then, and said “Yes” and that I supposed it was the horrid noise the water made around on the other side.  For quite a time we didn’t hear it, and then Jerry said: 

“There it is again!  The water must suck into those echoey hollows.  It sounds almost like a person groaning.”

“Don’t!” I said.

All at once he turned toward me and said in a queer, quick voice: 

“Do you suppose it could possibly be Greg?”

I can’t describe the way I felt when he said it, but if you’ve ever felt the same you know what I mean.  It was a little as though something heavy dropped from my throat down to my toes, through me, leaving me all empty, with cold, tingly things rushing up again to my head.  They were still rushing as we flew around the rock, and I kept saying: 

“It can’t be Greg....  It can’t be....”

But it was.