Transportation
Patrick was left alone with the backhoe. It looked lonely putt-putting away all by itself with Grampa no where in sight. Patrick felt very sad. He decided he had to do something for his old friend, even if it meant going somewhere he wasn't supposed to. Slowly he climbed up onto the seat of the backhoe. He looked at all the handles and levers and buttonsf and knobs and tried to remember which one he saw Grampa using to turn the motor off. The middle lever he knew was to lower the arm. Beside it was the one that turned the bucket. Beside that was the one that lowered the feet. As he looked at each lever a little thrill rose up inside him, and one little thrill piled up on another little thrill until his sadness went away.
"Don't touch," Mom said. "I think it's a dead seal."
But Kyle lifted one more handful of seaweed. "It has an ear," he said. "It looks like a dog."
"Poor dog," Mom said. "It must have drowned in the storm last night."
Kyle pulled away more seaweed. He uncovered the dog's face. "Its eyelid moved! It's alive!"
The boat was pushed closer to the cliff with each surge of the sea. Jake glanced back and saw the entrance to the cave a short distance away. Each time a wave hit, water rushed into the hole, like storm water down a drain. Then it was sucked out again as the wave receded.
"Jake! Look out!" said Tommy, standing up and pointing.
Jake saw the cliff loom up in front of him.
"Hold on!" he shouted.
