Boathouse. As they ran with it toward the shore, they saw a large black car whirl past the house on its way to the harbor. Lettie shook her fist at the somber vehicle.
“There he goes, the cause of all this trouble. Maybe we ought to start a club and call it the ‘Down-with-Black-Bart-Society.’ ”
“That’s a good hating sort of name,” said Jo. He repeated it as they ran.
Will, in the lead, called back over his shoulder, “Could be in our week here we can do something to stop his old bridge.”
Then they gave in to the pleasure of running pell-mell down the steep slope. The long, feathery grasses, starred with daisies, brushed softly against their bare knees. Ahead lay the boathouse to explore, and, who knew, in it might be the clue they needed to save the old house.
CHAPTER THREE
THEY DISCOVER A WHIRLPOOL
The boathouse padlock was rusty and reluctant to open but finally Will, perhaps because he was the most eager to get inside, was able to turn the key in it. Together he and Jo swung the two wide doors apart.
Lettie, peering over their shoulders, exclaimed, “Whew, I can’t see much but cobwebs and rust.”
Her brother saw other things. “Boats!” he cried. “Look at ’em. I never saw so many kinds all at once!” All thoughts of Black Bart left him. His sole desire was to launch a boat and as quickly as possible. “Grand Banks dories stacked up, a peapod, skiffs, a sailing dinghy,” he recited.
Ever since he was old enough to read he had studied books on boats in the public library. Now here at hand were many of the types he had known only at secondhand. He looked and looked, and was too excited to say more.
Jo and Lettie studied the heaps of fishing and marine gear. Rusty anchors, dip nets, seine nets, barrels of red wooden lobster buoys, and one of glass ball floats.
At the very back of the building, in front of a pair of doors, Will discovered a dory small enough for them to move out. He shot the rusty bolt holding the doors and pushed it open.
In rushed the wind and out swept angry swallows which had been scolding and chittering at the newcomers from their mud-pocket nests.
“Come on, Let, just don’t stand there dreaming,” her brother ordered. “Pick out a pair of oars that are the right size and then help us shove out this dory, will you?”
Lettie answered doubtfully, “Do you think we should? Mary Pete didn’t say we could.”
“Why else would she tell us where the key was if she didn’t intend us to use her boats? This isn’t a museum. We can both row and swim.”
“Me, too,” said Jo.
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s get going.” Already Will was straining to move the dory. Jo tugged on the opposite side and Lettie, still a bit uncertain, pushed from the stern.
It took a great deal of pushing to get the boat outside but once they had it on the ways sloping down to the water, Will was exuberant. “From here on the going’s easy. It’ll be a cinch.”
They all ran at the dory and gave a shove that should have been powerful enough to carry it to the water. It moved only a short distance; it took a great deal more shoving and pushing before the stubborn orange bow hit the surface of the harbor. Then Will leaped aboard and capered a moment in his joy. “Come on, you fellows, climb aboard!” he ordered. “Jo, into the bow, Let, the stern.”
“Look who’s captain,” was her retort, but she didn’t really mind being bossed today. It was fine to be on the bright water. “Isn’t Mary Pete’s house just beautiful from here? It’s so white and sort of smiling with the sun on its face. And there’s a widow’s walk on top. I bet we could see all the way to Canada if we went up there.”
“Where we bound for, Captain?” asked Jo. “Are we going to roll, roll down to Rio?”
“Tomorrow we will,” answered his cousin. “Today we’ll investigate something near. See those white birds that aren’t terns nor gulls nor anything else I know?” Will jerked his head toward the bay where on its current-streaked surface there were scores of white birds. They hovered in a ragged garland or whirled about like weather vanes.
“Yes,” said Lettie, “there’s millions.”
“Well, we’re going over and study them and discover what they are. I thought we’d be farther on our way there than this. Even with these long oars a dory is harder to row than I thought. I wish we had another pair so two could row.”
Will rowed for a time in silence then he added, “And I wish you two would get lower down; it would help. You aren’t exactly streamlined when you stick up so.”
Obligingly his passengers plumped themselves down on the floor boards.
“O-oh, the boat’s leaking. I’ve sat down in a lot of water,” wailed Lettie, “cold water, too.”
“Golly Moses, the water is coming in for sure. Look, Will, see these little waterfalls all along this one crack in the side,” exclaimed Jo.
Will jerked his head to look, and somehow his abrupt movement released an oar. It slid out from between the two wooden thole pins that held it in place. He leaned out at once to retrieve it but his arm wasn’t long enough. The dory was too high sided for him to reach that oar and cling to the other between its thole pins.
“Grab it, Jo, grab it before it gets past you!” Will shouted.
Jo leaned out over the water as far as he dared but the oar slid past his outstretched fingers as if it had a mind of its own. On and on it sped, bobbing and turning upon itself, toward the whirling, darting sea birds.
Will groaned. “Why, oh, why can that oar travel so fast on its own and we can scarcely move? It’s you lumps of passengers just sitting there, that’s the trouble.”
“What else can we do?” asked Lettie calmly. She was used to Will’s angry spells and wanted to show Jo how to deal with them.
Will said nothing. He began to paddle furiously with the remaining oar. It thumped against the sides as he shifted it and picked up orange paint. Soon Lettie was complaining of being wet from the water he scooped onto her in the process of shifting. As for the runaway oar, it increased the distance between them all the time.
It’s like the White Rabbit hurrying to an appointment, Lettie thought. She didn’t say so; the scowling Will was in no mood for frivolity.
Finally Will said, “No soap. We aren’t moving. I’m going to try skulling. That might work better than this paddling. Move your carcass, there, Lettie, and we’ll switch places.”
The exchange was made. Will laid the shaft of the oar in a semicircular notch that had been cut in the stern’s narrow transom. Then he wiggled the oar blade back and forth in the water.
“Maybe
