The sun was gradually sinking toward the West. Lydia insisted that it must be at least half past four or five. She was sure they would have to camp out upon the island all night and was tearfully worrying about bears--“There always _are_ bears in the woods, Betty,” she said. “I don’t want to stay here all night, oh dear! Don’t you suppose that a boat ever will come around the bend and see our signal?” But it was long after that that at last a launch sped by, leaving in its wake a track of white foam. No use to scream! The launch simply did not hear or see and there were but two in it, a lady and a man who was at the rear.
“Mrs. Roberts has a parasol exactly that shade,” wailed Betty. “It might be her out looking for me only she wouldn’t think I had gone out on the river. Since I’ve been here, we never have been boating. She’s probably hunting for me in town or else she’s gone to call without me by this time. Maybe she thinks I forgot the call and went to walk. Then, of course, she’d not be worrying or looking for me till supper time.”
“But I should think they’d have stopped the launch when they heard us scream, ‘Help!’ They must have heard!”
“No,” disagreed Betty. “Maybe they never noticed or they thought we were just a silly picnic party playing Robinson Crusoe.”
“Maybe we deserve it for taking a boat that didn’t belong to us.”
They sat on the rock for a long time wondering what more they could do and then Betty realized that she was fearfully hungry. Lydia, too, at the same time, longed for a couple of sandwiches. “We might go look to see if there are berries in the woods,” they agreed.
There were no berries, of course. There was only wintergreen and that wasn’t satisfying. They found remnants of some picnic’s old boxes--but that was all. The picnic must have been there weeks ago for its boxes were mere pulp now--oh dear!
Betty’s pink dress was torn and scratched by brambly twigs that were in that woods. Lydia’s hair had lost its ribbon and trailed down her back in a loose tangle. The two of them were begrimed like two tramps when, finally, Betty discovered a footprint that looked as if it were newly made. “Friday, Man Friday,” she screamed, “Look! There must be somebody on this island, if we can only find the one to whom this belongs! Hooray, maybe we’ll be rescued yet! Let’s follow in the same direction and see if we do find another picnic party--if they haven’t gone home!”