The Mystery on Cobbett's Island by Kathryn Kenny Page A

“You know, I think if I use the paddle as arudder, I may be able to steer us up to the red nun and we can tie up there. At least, it’s worth a try.”
    He had no sooner put the oar in the water, than they all heard the noise of a motorboat in the distance. A small yellow speedboat was plowing toward them. They stood up and began to yell and wave their arms as it approached, but to their amazement, it kept coming at full speed, passed within a few feet of them, and careened away.
Star Fire
pitched and tossed in the wake of the boat, and Peter, trying to keep his foothold, yelled, “You bums, that’s just like a stinkpot!”
    â€œDo you know those two characters?” asked Trixie when she had gotten her breath.
    â€œNever saw them before in my life,” answered Peter, “and I don’t want to again! Did anyone notice the number on their boat? They ought to be reported to the Coast Guard!” he added angrily.
    â€œI’m not sure, but I don’t think there
was
a number on it,” replied Trixie. “All I saw was a dragon painted on the front.”
    The others agreed that they hadn’t seen a number on the speedboat either, only a green dragon with a long forked red tongue.
    After the waves caused by the speedboat had subsided, Peter continued to edge
Star Fire
toward the buoy,and after what seemed hours, he brought her close enough for Mart to throw a line over it and secure the boat. They helped take off the sails and stow them in the sail bags, coil all the lines, and get everything in the cockpit shipshape.
    It was growing darker, but everyone was so relieved to be tied fast that they didn’t immediately think about the problem of getting home. Peter, whose shorts were still wet from his dive into the bay, was beginning to shiver, so Trixie suggested he wrap his legs up in an old sweat shirt which she had found under one of the seats. They all put on the extra sweaters they had brought and prepared to sit it out until help arrived.
    Peter started to sing a sea chantey. “Come, ye bold fishermen, listen to me; I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea.” There were endless verses, and the others soon joined lustily in the chorus, “Blow ye winds westerly, westerly blow. We’re bound to the southward, so steady go we.” He had a good voice and a seemingly endless stock of such songs which raised everyone’s spirits.
    Mart rummaged through the lunch basket, hoping that something might be left from lunch, but there wasn’t a crumb, and for once he refrained from mentioning his hunger.
    The wind had died away as night really settleddown on them, and a few stars became visible in the sky. Suddenly, Trixie exclaimed, “I thought you said this was a flashing buoy, Peter! When does the light come on?”
    â€œBy Jove, Trix, you’re right. It
is
supposed to be lighted,” Peter cried. “The light flashes day and night, but, of course, in the daytime you don’t notice it. Hand me the flashlight out of the drawer, and I’ll see if I can find out what’s wrong.” He jumped up on deck, ran to the bow of the boat, and played the beam of light over the buoy. “The bulb has been smashed!” he exclaimed.
    â€œJeepers, what if a Bunker boat happens to be coming in tonight? There won’t be any light to guide it into the channel,” Trixie said. “They’ll be in a worse mess than we are. They could go aground!”
    â€œIsn’t there any way to fix it?” asked Mart, dead serious for once in his life.
    â€œNot a chance in the world,” Peter answered in a low voice as he climbed back into the cockpit.
    All four were silent, their fears rising as time passed with no sound except the slapping of the water against the side of the boat.
    Presently, Trixie said, “Say, Di, do you remember that Christmas when we decided to go out to sing carols to the shut-ins, and we each carried