pened to Peter Pan?" she asked at length, almost in a whisper.
"They can't have seen him, or we should have heard a shot," Keith replied. "I hope he doesn't delay too long, though, because the clouds are getting thinner, and if it grows light he won't be able to get anywhere near the schooner. Hark! What's that?"
As he spoke the moon shone through a sudden break in the clouds, and a hoarse cry came over the water from the opposite side of the reef.
"See! The schooner! The schooner!" Joan exclaimed excitedly. "It's drifting on to the reef!"
The cries on the imperilled craft were now redoubled. Above them Moniz's deep voice could be heard bellowing, and a yell of pain told its own story of some luckless black who had not jumped to obey orders quickly enough to please the Portuguese trader. Nearer and nearer the reef the vessel drifted. There was the creaking of blocks and tackle. A sail bellied against the sheen of the moon. A canvas cracked in the wind like a great whip.
"He's scraped out of it by the skin of his teeth," muttered Keith. "It was a near thing, though."
With straining sheets the schooner was now edging away from the threatening coral, back toward her old anchorage. The figure of Peter Pan appeared suddenly on the reef, and he scrambled into the whale-boat.
