“No I won’t,” said Roger.
Slowly they moved across to the western shore. No one could row Swallow fast. It was growing dusk. Already the hills were dark, and you could not see the woods on them. It began to seem that after waiting so long because it was too light, they were going to fail after all because it would not be light enough.
“Look here, Susan,” said John, “I think I’d better row.”
But just then a line of ripples crept over the green and silver surface of the smooth water.
“Thank goodness,” said Captain John. “Here’s the wind again, and it’s the same wind. Sometimes it changes after sunset, but this is still from the south.”
The ripples grew as the south wind strengthened.
“It’ll be against us on the way home,” said the mate.
“There’ll be no hurry then,” said John.
“What about sailing?” said Roger. “But I’m not tired.”
“It isn’t as if Swallow had a white sail,” said Captain John. “They’ll never see the brown one in this light, especially if we hug the shore. And we can with this wind. Yes, Mister Mate. Tell the men to bring the sweeps aboard.”
“Easy,” said the mate. “Bring the sweeps in.”
Roger stopped rowing and lifted first one oar and then the other from the rowlocks and laid them quietly down.
“Keep her heading as she is,” said Captain John.