CHAPTER XIII.
"HOME AGAIN! HERE WE ARE!" The wind was indeed "just right;" but even Dab forgot, for the moment, that "The Swallow" would go faster and farther before a gale than she was likely to with the comparatively mild southerly breeze now blowing.
He was by no means likely to get home by dinner-time.

As for danger, there would be absolutely none, unless the weather should again become stormy; and there was no probability of any such thing at that season.
And so, after he had eaten his breakfast, and, with a genuine boy's confidence in boys, Frank Harley came on board "The Swallow" as a passenger, the anchor was lifted, and the gay little craft spread her white sails, and slipped lightly away from the neighborhood of the forlorn-looking, stranded steamer.
"They'll have her out of that in less'n a week," said Ford to Frank.

"My father'll know just what to do about your baggage, and so forth." There were endless questions to be asked and answered on both sides; but at last Dab yawned a very sleepy yawn, and said, "Ford, you've had your nap.

Wake up Dick, there, and let him take his turn at the tiller.

The sea's as smooth as a lake, and I believe I'll go to sleep for an hour or so.