An exclamation from Helen attracted his attention to the horizon on the northwest, where a long line of breakers glittered in the sun.

A reef or low sandy bay appeared to exist in that direction, about fifteen miles away, and something more than a mile in length.

As they proceeded, he marked roughly on the side of his tin baler, with the point of a pin borrowed from Helen, the form of the coast line.
An hour and a half brought them to the northwestern extremity of the island.

As they cleared the shelter of the land, the southerly breeze coming with some force across the open sea caught the cutter, and she lay over in a way to inspire Helen with alarm; she was about to let go the tiller, when Hazel seized it, accidentally inclosing her hand under the grasp of his own, as he pressed the tiller hard to port.
"Steady, please; don't relinquish your hold; it is all right--no fear," he cried, as he kept his eye on their sail.
He held this course for a mile or more, and then, judging with a long tack he could weather the southerly side of the island he put the boat about.

He took occasion to explain to Helen how this operation was necessary, and she learned the alphabet of navigation.