and rushing the cabin before you knew we were anywhere near.”
“I’ll look in early the day after to-morrow,” said Timothy. “So long, partners!”
They said “Good-bye,” and watched him as he laid to his oars and went rowing away between Long Island and the point with the boatbuilders’ sheds, on his way to Houseboat Bay.
“Boats mean nothing to him at all,” said Nancy. “He always says he’d rather walk. Uncle Jim says he’s first-rate on mountains … Uncle Jim’s too fat … And he says it wouldn’t do for everybody to be web-footed. Come on, Dick. You’ve seen enough of Timothy. Hop in. You sit on the suitcases, Peggy, and Dot in the stern. I’ll row across the bay.”
Five minutes later Amazon was slipping alongside one of the little landing stages that ran out from the boatbuilders’ sheds. Wherever the new boat was, she was certainly not in the water. The old boatbuilder saw them rowing in, and came out on the stage to meet them.
“Isn’t she ready?” asked Nancy.
The old boatbuilder did not even think he needed to say he was sorry. “You’ll be wanting to see her,” he said, making fast Amazon’s painter. “But you must let the varnish dry. And the sail’s been dressed. I’ve got it drying now in the loft.” He led the way into the shed and Dick and Dorothea saw for the first time the first boat they had ever owned. She lay upside down on trestles, her bottom shiny with smooth black varnish, her sides gleaming gold in the sunshine that slanted through the open door.
“Is she only thirteen feet?” asked Dick. “She looks much bigger.”
“She’s as near the same as your boat as we could make her,” the old boatbuilder said to Nancy. “That’s what Mr. Turner said was wanted. You’ll be racing, I dare say.”
“Yes, yes,” said Nancy. “But the holidays have begun and they want her now. Uncle Jim’s quite right. You know what he said?”
“Nay, I don’t.”
“He said you were bound to be late with her because the only boatbuilder who ever finished a boat on time was Noah, and he only did it because he knew he’d be drowned if he didn’t.”
“He’s one for joking, is Mr. Turner,” said the old man.
“But when will she be ready?” asked Nancy.
“Last coat of varnish … rifle of rigging … another coat to the oars … anchor should be here in the morning … You can have her the day after to-morrow. Better say the day after that.”
Dick knelt on the ground to look up into her from below. Dorothea, hardly believing that she was really looking at their own boat, twisted her head to read the name, SCARAB, upside down on her transom. Dick got to his feet again, saw her rudder leaning against the wall of the shed, and, privately, felt the tiller in his hand.
“That’s quite all right,” he said. “We don’t want to put her in the water till she’s ready.” He turned to Nancy. “We’ll be able to go to High Topps the day after to-morrow without wasting any time.”
“We’ll leave her to-morrow and the next day,” said Nancy. “But the day after that we’ll come for her.” She looked hard at the boatbuilder. “She really will be ready for them by then?”
“She will that.”
“If she isn’t,” said Nancy, “we can’t raise a flood, but we’ll jolly well burn down the shed.”
“And welcome,” said the old boatbuilder. “But you won’t need to. She’ll be afloat and waiting for you.”
With white sail set and a southerly wind, the Amazon ran swiftly back across Rio Bay and away on a straight course for the Beckfoot promontory, where a Jolly Roger had been hoisted on the flagstaff in honour of the visitors. Dorothea and Dick took their turns at steering, just to remember what it was like. They had often sailed before, both on the lake and on the Broads, but it felt different to be sailing now when in only two days’ time they were going to have a boat of their own. And for nearly a year they had not been in the north. There were the hills, with patches of purple heather, glowing in the evening sun. There were other boats. A steamer came out of Rio Bay, and shook them with its wash, as it churned past on the way to the head of the lake. There was the distant peak of Kanchenjunga. Somewhere behind the nearer hills to the south of the great peak lay High Topps where they had been prospectors, found copper, and ended by fighting a fell fire. Looking astern over Rio Bay, they could see High Greenland on the skyline. No matter where they looked, there was always something to remind them of the adventures of the past.
Nancy seemed to know what they were thinking. “Look here,” she said. “There’ll be no adventures this time, not until Mother and Uncle Jim get back. We’ve promised. But they’ll be back in eleven days and after that the Swallows are coming and, with three boats and all our tents, we’ll work out something really splendid. But till then we’ve jolly well got to see that nothing happens at all.”
“Just being here’s lovely,” said Dorothea.
“There’ll be sailing, of course,” said Nancy.
“We won’t have time for adventures,” said Dick. “There’ll be Scarab. And the work I’ve got to do with Timothy. And the heather’s out. I promised another man I’d try to get him a fox moth caterpillar. There’s always a chance of finding them on the heather. And I’ve got a list of birds to make. Hullo. There’s the first of them anyway. I’ve been hoping we’d see one.” He pulled out his pocket-book, wrote “Cormorant,” and, until he lost sight of it in the shadow of the western hills, watched the big black bird flying close above the water.
“There’s lots and lots to do without adventures,” said Dorothea.
“That’s all right,” said Nancy.
“We knew you wouldn’t mind,” said Peggy. “So long as you know what to expect.”
They rounded the point and turned in between the reedbeds at the mouth of the Amazon River. The ridge of the promontory cut off the wind. They lowered the sail, pulled up the centreboard, and rowed slowly upstream to the old Beckfoot boathouse, with its skull and crossbones fading now but still to be seen, painted over the entry.
“It could do with a lick of paint,” said Nancy when she saw what the visitors were looking at.
“Where’s the launch?” asked Dick as soon as he could see into the boathouse.
“Having a new plank put in,” said Peggy.
“Good thing, too,” said Nancy. “Scarab’s going to have her place. We’ve got it all ready. Look out for heads while I lower the mast….”
“She’s going to lie against those fenders,” said Peggy, and Dick and Dorothea, looking at the rope fenders, saw in their minds’ eyes their ship already in her private dock.
Amazon was tied up and the four of them carried the two suitcases across the lawn to the house.
“Here they are!” shouted Nancy, and old Cook came out from her kitchen
