to realize their predicament.

"Not unless we are lifted," replied Mae gloomily.

"Do you mean to tell us we are stuck?" asked Louise.

"That's the simplest way of putting it," replied Eugenia.

"Then," said Grace, still imbued with the spirit of fun. "Where do we go
from here?"

"That's a delicate question," replied Helen, for both Mae and Eugenia
were too busy to pay heed to nonsense.

For some time they tried all tactics known to navigators caught in a
similar predicament, then finally settled down to make the best of a bad
bargain.

"Why can't we go in to shore on the little boat?" asked Grace, still
anxious to try the dory.

"What good would that do us?" asked Mae.

"Some one may be camped there," Grace added further.

"Even so, a camper couldn't move the Blowell more than we can," said
Eugenia.

"Our only hope is a tow," reflected Mae, "and I don't see a launch, and
no launch could ever see us in this pocket."

"I'm so sorry I suggested the islands," said Grace contritely. "Of
course, I'm a very green sailor."

"Not your fault in the least," Eugenia assured. "We should have known
better."

"And when may the tide come in?" asked Julia innocently.

"Some time A. M.," said Mae, hiding her concern with a brave show of
indifference.

"Do you mean to say we must stay out here all night?" gasped Helen.

"I hate to say it, but it may be true," said Mae slowly. "Still, a
launch may loom up. Any provisions left?"

At this the remains of their lunch were dragged out from the cabin, and
as they viewed the most glorious sunset they had ever witnessed, they
munched crumbs, and tried to keep up their spirits, which were plainly
going down with the ball of red gold.

It was a gloomy prospect. No way of sending a message home, no one to
give them a tow, and as Cleo put it just "nobody nor nawthin'."

It was fast coming nightfall! Brave as they were the scouts worried more
about the home folks than they did at their own predicament.

"If I could only let mama know!" sighed Julia with a melancholy look at
the only things moving, and they were merely sunset clouds.

"Never give up," counselled Mae. "We are in no danger, at least that is
something."

"What's that song about the 'dove on the mast'?" asked Cleo moodily.
"Something about he did mourn, and mourn and mourn."

"Don't you dare perpetrate that," said Mae. "You are thinking of the
famous old sob song, 'Oh, Fair Dove, oh, Fond Dove'. But please f