"I WOULD never have believed that real scouts could have failed so miserably in a mere washing," complained Grace; "in fact, I am almost wondering if we should not go into ashes and broadcloth, and ask to be trained laundresses. It seems to me rather humiliating."
"Ashes and broadcloth," repeated Cleo thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean sackcloth and ashes. That's in a different department—Con Grazia, also a different priced goods. But I don't believe we need worry about the laundry work. Mother thought we were perfectly heroic to undertake the task, and she was pleased to death to see the lines of sparkling linens waving welcome to her as she hailed in from the train. Also, she admitted the same starch mistake we made, that of stiffening handkerchiefs when she first tried out the process. So perhaps that's a regular human weakness and not peculiar to raw scouts, rookies, I suppose I should say."
"I am so glad your mother approved, Cleo.I feel better now. I must confess I was rather crestfallen after all our noble, heroic, spectacular stunts. But sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof, as some one has remarked. Now Cleo, I want to tell you something," and she settled down deeper in the porch cushions at "Rosabell." Also she kicked off a new pair of pumps to remove pedal distractions. "You know Cleo, I have heard that a lot of small fires do start up mysteriously around here. And no one has been able to run down the fire bug. I heard some men down at the Post Office talking about a run the fire department had last night. Away out some place just for a chicken coop. They seemed peeved, as Louise would say. Now I feel we have a clue in that bottle note, but after all our other experiences perhaps it would be better for just you and me to go at the mystery first. More hands always seem to me like more mixups."
"Really, Grazia, you alarm me with your wisdom," replied Cleo, affixing a very foolish giggle to the alarm signal. "I just wonder what will happen if you go getting so mighty wise all of a sudden. But I do think you are right just the same. Many hands mean mighty mixups. That's alliteration. You see I'm sticking to lit."
"I wish you would stick to common sense, Cleo. I am not wishing any hard work on the scouts for this glorious summer, but I feel, Iinstinctively feel, as Julia says, there is something queer to curiosity in the fire-bug business. Also, I have found my old Jack Tar friend, that I promised myself when we came down. And he is captain of the Life Saving Station just as I planned. Only—well—it really isn't essential, but his whiskers are not quite as long as I planned them to be. But Cleo, I want you to meet old Neptune. His name is Dave Dunham, and he seems to love me already. Come on down and have a talk with him. He has a place like a scene in an old fashioned drama."
"I'd love to go, Grace, and I am just keen on an ocean breeze this A. M. So gather up your pumps, also your feet, and let us away," decided Cleo.
The weather was still cool, and true to their promise the girls were wearing their scout uniform, all khaki, with the thin blouse, so that running along to the life saving station they seemed quite a part of the picture. The real marine sky—that green blue with white clouds as soft as the very foam they roll over, gave the day a finish fit for the true artist's eye, but Cleo and Grace did not stop to admire the tints and tones, whether marine or general seascape.
"How cozy," whispered Cleo as they stepped into the front room of the station, which was fitted up with such comforts as might be essential to the life of the Coast Guard. The big round pot stove was obviously the most conspicuousthing in the room, and beside it such furniture as the long table with its faded red cover, the big wooden chairs, with bindings of wires and telegraph glasses for castors (rheumatic cures, we recall), all these articles fell into the shadows of that big round stove, with its new coat of shiny black iron paint.
"Captain Dave!" called Grace, after looking about for the host. "Are you in?"
"Sure thing, I'm in, right here, comin'," returned a voice which preceded the figure of Captain Dave.
"Good morning, Captain," Grace greeted him. "This is my chum, Cleo Harris, you remember I spoke of her. We are all Girl Scouts, you know," as he eyed the uniform and both girls raised their hand in salute. "Maybe you can give us something to do with all of your life lines, and buoys and such things. We don't know much about life saving on the deep, although we have tried it on dry land," said Grace.
"Welcome," said the old sailor simply. "We don't have hard work this time of the year, but we need the rest after winter. This was a heavy one. More storms than in thirty years," he declared, pulling out two of the heavy wooden chairs, running his hand over them to make sure they were free from dust, then indicating the girls should make themselves comfortable, while he proceeded to occupy a still largerchair that commanded a view of the sea from the broad window.
"Captain, what do you think of all those small fires we hear folks talking about?" asked Grace in her direct way. "Do you suppose some mischievous boys are starting them?"
The captain turned his head to the direction in which he was emitting his clouds of smoke, paused for a minute, then shook his head.
"I dunno," he replied. "I know most of the youngsters around here, and I've never known them to do a thing like that. There was seven good hens burned in that little fire last night, and old Dick Malloney has to depend on selling eggs to get his coffee. It's a shame!" and he allowed his heavy chair to spring forward with a pronounced thud.
"We have only been down a week," remarked Cleo, "but I have noticed smoke almost every morning out in those woods over the river. I suppose some one lives that way, do they?"
"You mean on the island," he explained. "That's Weasle Point, sticks out into the bay and just west is the island; not more than a clump of trees on a few rocks, but big enough to stand the wear, so it is called Luna Land, but children make it Looney Land," he explained. "A couple of huts in there, but no place for you girls to go visitin'," he finished, as if divining the plan already shaping itself in the minds of Grace and Cleo—a trip to Looney Land.
"Why Looney Land?" asked Cleo. "Queer folks out there?"
"Dunno as any folks is out there, but places get named somehow, just like they get trees, no plantin' just come that way. Looney Land doesn't mean anything that I know of except the moon seems to set over there. But one thing I do know," and he made this very plain, "it's a good place for girls to keep away from."
Grace and Cleo exchanged glances. It occurred to each that the forbidden land was very apt to become attractive, but neither said so, nor asked how Looney Land was to be reached.
"You have awful storms in winter, don't you?" asked Cleo, fingering an oil skin coat, and noticing the big shiny hat that hung with it on a wooden peg. "And I suppose you have wrecks occasionally."
"Yes, more than we enjoy," replied Captain Dave. "Had a bad one two years ago. See that little pole stickin' up out there beyond the pier? That's all that's left of the Alameda, and a fine vessel she was, too."
"Lives lost?" asked Grace mechanically.
"Oh, yes indeed, yes indeed," replied the captain. "Some folks around here yet that was thrown ashore from that wreck. I mind one light haired woman, and a youngster—little girl. We took them in here from the line, you know how we swing the rings out on the line, and draw the poor things in? Wellthis woman was so frozen we could hardly get the child from her arms. She died next day, just as we got her to the hospital."
"What was her name—the girl's name, I mean?" asked Grace, interested now that "life" had been discovered in the specter of the wreck.
"Oh, some simple name—don't know as I recall it rightly. They usually tag on another. We have quite a few folks pass in and out of this station in thirty years—I've been here more than that, and I don't keep no record of my visitors. They are mostly glad to come and glad to go," and the captain lighted a fresh pipe, by way of turning over a new leaf in his story.
"I suppose there were the usual papers for the little girl from the wreck," prompted Cleo. "They always turn out to be somebody of account, lost at sea and found years later on land. You know how stories have a way of shaping themselves, Captain," she apologized, "and I am sort of interested in stories."
"You'll find plenty around here, without concocting them," the seaman promised. "Not a broken oar in that loft but is a record of some boy's courage, and not a boat do we break up for firewood but with it goes many a story of heroism that never was printed," he added eloquently.
"And you think we ought to keep away fromLooney Land?" Cleo forced herself to ask, being a trifle reticent about recalling the question Captain Dave had so decisively spoken upon.
"Oh, I don't know as there's any great harm in the little splash of an island," he replied. "But when young 'uns keep saying 'look out' and 'don't go near,' I allus' believe they know what they're talking about. I hain't never hearn any grown up say rightly the place is pested, in any way, but the young 'uns just naturally shuns it, and kids often make a mighty good barometer—can tell when a gale is brewin'."
At this the captain showed signs of having some work to do, so the girls arose and thanked him for his hospitality. They had enjoyed the visit, and on leaving, captain Dave promised to let them see a life drill some afternoon.
"Isn't that queer about Looney Island?" asked Grace, directly they reached the board walk. "Luna Land is a pretty enough name, especially as Captain Dave says the moon sets over there, but 'Looney Land' is different," she declared. "We will surely have to explore those parts, Cleo, even if we do have to take a life saver's kit along with us."
"And did you notice Weasle Point? Of course our fire-bug must belong somewhere out in that sand-bar, and just as much of course, we will have to find out all about the queer diggin's. Better not tell Julie, she is so nervous, and I'msure Margaret would want to fetch along our only two town police officers, she is so practical. There they are—the girls, I mean. See them just turning around 'B' street? Coo-ee—Whoo-ee!" called Cleo, her hand cupped to her lips to send out the yodle.
Cutting across the little stretch of green that bound Glimmer Lake, Margaret and Julia were soon on the board walk.
"Oh listen!" shouted Julia. "Listen!" she repeated in that useless way girls have of holding off news.
"We are listening, of course," replied Grace, "but get your breath or you'll choke. What's the excitement!"
"That funny girl with the tongue," Margaret managed to say, before Julia could get her breath. "She's the queerest thing. She followed us all the way from the village. We turned corners, and so did she; we hurried, and she hurried, and when we stopped, she stopped. Isn't that too impudent for words? I think we ought to report her," declared the indignant Margaret.
"Report her for doing the things we do?" laughed Cleo. "Why, Margaret, who would think you were a first class scout? I'm surprised," and the girl's voice mimicked the severe tones of a prim elder.
"Just the same," Julia insisted, "I can't see why she should be allowed to plague us andmolest us in the streets." Julia was not quite sure "molest" was the word, but it had an important sound and all the girls seemed impressed by it.
"Aren't we special officers?" protested Grace. "Why shouldn't we do our own—our own policing? Let's form ourselves into a squad, and track down the culprit," and she rolled her tongue, as well as her eyes.
"Let us sit down and talk it over," suggested practical Margaret. "I'm ready to drop from all the paces we made samples of to suit our trailer."
"Where did she go?" asked Cleo.
"Ducked into a little shanty with a laundry sign on the fence," replied Julia, "and we were so glad to be rid of her we just raced all the way down B street."
"And look!" said Margaret. "There's our other hero. The boy with the books. See, he is making for a quiet bench, and look! That's yellow paper sticking out of his pocket. Let's watch him! Maybe he will get our bottle letter."
But the studious boy with the books and papers made straight for the bench, and finding a seat proceeded to read. He didn't even notice the girls when they brushed past him.
"ARE you perfectly sure it is safe?" asked Cleo. "Seeing the bottom here doesn't mean we can see it all the way across."
"Why, you could walk across the river, really," replied Louise. "Even at high tide it's not more than a big pond."
"Oh, do come on," begged Grace. "Think of catching crabs."
"But who knows how to row?" demanded the cautious Cleo.
"I do!" called Margaret. "I always rowed out in the pond at Flosston."
"And so do I," insisted Julia. "We go to Lake George sometimes, and I have tried rowing in the smaller streams there."
"And I have always known how to row," replied Louise emphatically.
"That being the case I suppose I must make the crabbing party unanimous," capitulated Cleo, "although I should not enjoy a spill out here so near the inlet."
"We will go up stream, the other way," conceded Louise, delighted at the prospect of their crabbing party. "Come on, here is where we hire our boat, and get our crabbing outfit."
Down to the landing that jutted out into the shallow Round River, the girls hurried to procure their fishing outfit.
"A flat bottomed boat," urged Cleo.
"All right," agreed Louise. "But any big boat will do. There are four of us. One basket and four poles," she ordered from the prim little gray haired woman who kept the stand at the landing.
"And bait," went on Louise, while the other girls marveled at her marine intelligence.
"Oh, what smelly stuff?" sniffed Grace, taking the basket and holding it out at arm's length.
"That's the bait," explained Louise.
"I'm never going to eat fish as long as I live," resolved Cleo. "Each time I meet it it smells worse."
"The same fish naturally would," joked Louise. "But this is only bait Cleo—bait, don't you know what that means?" she teased, swinging the obnoxious basket up to a line with Cleo's face, where avoiding the odor would be impossible.
A boy was unfastening their boat, and he placed the oars in the locks just as the girls reached the water's edge.
"Don't tip," cautioned Julia. "We could at least get wet, even in this shallow water."
Grace and Margaret took the oars, and soon the crabbing party was gliding out among the few vacationists who were taking advantage of the pleasant afternoon on the water.
"Oh, look!" exclaimed Cleo. "There are the crabs! Where's our bait and things?"
"We have to load up first," explained Louise, assuming the role of fisherman. "Get your lines out, look out! Don't tangle them."
"But how do we hook them?" asked Julia, who was gingerly affixing an unfortunate little "shiner" on her line, to serve as bait for the foolish, greedy crab.
"We don't hook them, we catch them in the nets," further explained Louise. "I came out with daddy last week."
"Oh, no wonder you are so wise," said Cleo, struggling with her line. "I simply couldn't imagine what degree of scouting you learned to fish in; because I didn't."
"We recall what a lovely time you had in Allbright woods," Grace reminded Cleo. "But then it was at cooking fish you especially qualified," she added referring to an incident related in "The Girl Scout Pioneers."
"Oh, yes. My explosive mud ball!" assented Cleo. "But this is different. Ugh! I shall never, never brag of clean hands again afterthis. There, my fish is tied on the sinker; now what do I do, Weasie?"
"Don't rock the boat, that is always first and last orders," replied her chum, "and next, just throw your line out in any direction you choose."
"Oh, I see. You just guess where the crabs are," replied Cleo, quite interested, as her bait was leaving port, so to speak. "There! That's the best part of the fun—taking aim," and she gracefully tossed her flying line out into the water.
The other girls had likewise "cast," and now all were patiently waiting for a bite.
"Now, when you feel a pull," advised Louise, "just bring it up and slip your net in quietly, and scoop up Mr. Crab. There! I've got one! Now watch!"
Just as she had ordered the others to do, Louise now scooped up her net, and in came a good sized blue crab.
"Oh, look out," cried Grace. "Crabs bite fearfully. Louise, you are not going to turn that thing loose in this little boat?" she wailed.
"Don't worry Grace; he goes right in his little basket. There!" and with a skillful motion Louise did turn the squirming shell fish into the basket.
"He's crawling out!" shrieked Julia. "Oh, we should have a cover for the basket."
"No," Margaret said, shaking the basket andthus settling the nervous crab. "He can't get out. He is just exercising. My, how clawy he is! How many like that would it take to make a meal?"
"Quite a few I should think," replied Cleo. "For I know we don't eat the shell. But this is fun. Let me have another try. My turn to land one now," and again she cast out and patiently waited a bite.
The next shout of victory, however, came from Julia's end of the boat, and she presently landed a very large crab, so large and lively in fact, that all four girls helped to get him in the basket.
"Now, they'll fight," murmured Margaret. "See the way they claw each other."
"Come on girls," called Louise. "We'll never fill our baskets if we hold an autopsy over every catch. Here! I've got another," and into the basket went another unfortunate.
"It's just like a game, and I think the chance of grabbing one is as good fun as grabbing at Cross Tag," Cleo remarked. "Oh, there's one, Grace; look at your line dragging!"
And so it went on until the crabs were piling up in the basket and threatening to get out, in spite of the sea weed that was heaped on much thicker than necessary, according to the opinion of Louise.
So intent were the girls on their crabbing game they had not noticed the other craft driftingabout them. Suddenly Grace pulled so hard at Cleo's sleeve she almost lost a catch in the attempt.
"Look!" begged Grace. "Over in that boat! Wise Willie, the boy with the book."
They all paused to observe the graceful green bark, in which was seated the boy with the book, as Grace described him. And as usual the book was very much in evidence.
In fact, his oars lay in their locks, and he was drifting aimlessly as if the river were his, instead of the earth, according to Monte Cristo.
"Let's give him a scare and see if he is alive," suggested Cleo.
"Suppose we row up to him and ask him if he knows where the Weasle lives," proposed Grace.
"Oh, please don't," implored Julia, who showed signs of nervousness. "Why should we disturb him—he's only reading?"
"Oh, you like Wise Willie," teased Margaret. "Here's a flower from my belt, toss it to him, Julia."
But in spite of their joking the boy in the boat, all unconscious of the attention he was the center of, merely drifted on, until first one oar, then the other slipped out of the boat, and floated down the river.
"I believe heisunconscious," Grace continued to joke. "Now, of course, we have to rescue his oars."
"Why?" asked Julia innocently.
"Or tow him in, if you would rather, Jule," suggested Louise. "Don't you realize we are bound by traffic laws to assist a stranded boatman?"
"But he isn't stranded, and he doesn't need help," replied Julia with a show of something like temper. "Why should we speak to a strange boy?" she demanded.
"And why shouldn't we?" fired back Cleo. "If he isn't stranded it is because he hasn't struck the strand yet; just watch him."
They dropped their nets and watched the boy, who, bent over his book, drifted along without the least sign of regard for his situation.
Meanwhile the oars had drifted farther and farther away. A passing motor boat swelled the tide to a current and this washed them almost out of sight of the watchers.
"Being a boy we hesitate to hail him," said Louise. "Now, if that were a girl——"
"Oh, if it were," interrupted Julia, with a meaning tone.
"All the same the poor boy may be late for dinner," said Grace foolishly. "Let's hail him!" and she cupped her hands to her lips.
"Please don't," begged Julia. This objection brought forth a perfect volley of cynicism.
Finally, Cleo took up one oar, and Margaret the other, and they proceeded in the direction of the floating propellers. As they passed theboy's boat, the girls spoke loudly of "some one losing his oars," but even this did not arouse him.
"Maybe we'll have to row him home," said Grace. "He doesn't look as if he cared much whether he ever gets back to land or not."
It took but a few moments to get his oars, and again the girls turned up stream.
"Who is going to give them to him," asked Louise, with a foolish giggle.
"We are noble scouts—we are!" mocked Cleo. "Mine be the task! A-hem!" and here a fit of laughter spoiled the proposed effect.
"Here are your oars!" called Grace, before the others could realize what she was about. But no boy answered.
"Say!" yelled Margaret, taking courage from Grace. "Say, boy! Here are your oars!" Still no answer.
Louise took an oar and gave the drifting boat a vigorous shove.
At this the boy did look up, and for a moment he seemed to comprehend; then he jumped up so suddenly he toppled over into the water between the two boats!
"Oh, mercy!" cried the girls, in one voice.
"The river is deep enough here!" exclaimed Louise. "Give him an oar to climb on."
A sudden scream from the boy in the water brought the melancholy news that he could not swim! His boat drifted off as quickly as itwas freed from his weight, and the girls were not quite near enough to reach him.
"Hurry, hurry!" begged Louise, who was now rowing. "He may sink, then what would he do?"
But the boy was splashing around making a brave attempt to keep up, and really doing so by the flat handed action with which he patted the water.
All embarrassment was now forgotten, as the scouts pulled up carefully to where the boy was just bobbing up and down, each movement adding to his peril.
"Climb in!" commanded Louise as they reached him. But he could scarcely put his hand to the oar, and the girls noticed his face was blue white.
"Oh, dear me!" cried Julia, "he is fainting or something," and nervous though she was, it was she who managed to get the first grip on the weakened boy.
It was no easy matter to get him into the boat; he was struggling and gasping for breath, and could make very little effort to help himself. Finally, when all four girls had succeeded in keeping the boat balanced and dragging him into it, he gave one painful gasp, closed his eyes, and sank into unconsciousness.
"WHERE shall we take him?" asked Grace in dismay.
"To the landing," replied Cleo, who still rowed with Margaret, while Julia clung to the stern of the boat in horror.
The boy looked so lifeless! Could he be dead?
As he lay there his delicate features seemed more than death-like; they seemed dead!
"Oh, mercy, do hurry!" pleaded Grace. "Let me help you pull," she asked, getting hold of Margaret's oar.
The small boat was now over crowded, and it was with difficulty the girls managed to give the boy sufficient room.
"Can't we call any one?" suggested Julia.
"Not any one in sight now," replied Louise. "We spent more time than we imagined. See, it is sun down."
"But what made him go like that?" Margaret whispered. "He had only been in the water a few minutes."
"Maybe the fright," said Cleo, noticing how high the lad's forehead was, and with what evident care he had been dressed. His glasses were still on, and the sunset made ghostly shadows on his face.
"I'm so glad he didn't topple over when I touched his boat," said Louise. "I should have thought it all my fault, if he had."
"Nonsense," replied Grace. "He was bound to fall overboard. He did not seem to know he was on the water. But isn't it too bad there is no one around to call? Every one is gone now."
They rowed as vigorously as their young arms could serve the strokes, and it took but a few moments to get out in a straight line for the pier.
As the girls came within hailing distance of the dock the captain there, seeing something was wrong, hurried to the steps to meet them.
"What's this? What happened?" he asked.
"He fell overboard. Oh, please hurry to revive him," pleaded Julia. "He looks so death-like."
Leaning over the boat the man picked the frail boy up in his arms and carried him up the pier as quickly as it waspossibleto do so.
"He moved. Look!" called Julia. "See, he is moving! Oh, I am so glad he is not dead."
"He could hardly have died," replied Louise, thus reassuring her nervous companions."Still, I am glad to see he does move. Do you think we should follow them up there?"
"Oh, see the crowd gathering," exclaimed Margaret. "We can't do anything to help. Let's row out and bring in his boat. We would attract a lot of foolish attention up there."
This was considered the best plan, and without being noticed the girls pulled out again, and only watched the excitement from the distance. Presently they heard an automobile start off from the pier and at this the crowd was seen to disperse.
"I guess they are taking him home in a car," said Cleo. "Dear me, do you suppose it was our fault that he fell overboard?"
"Why, no indeed," protested Margaret. "But we saved him. He might easily have been lost if we hadn't. Somehow he seemed half asleep. He might have really been sleeping. Boys often do that while out rowing."
They managed to catch the drifting boat, and Grace got in this to row. As she did so she could not help observing a number of folded slips of yellow paper that lay tossed aside, in the bottom of the boat. But Grace had no thought of scrutinizing them. Somehow such an act would seem like spying.
Briskly both boats were now rowed back to the landing. No one was near, and when thescouts turned in their oars and paid for their boat, only a boy was at the stand.
"Was he hurt?" asked Cleo eagerly.
"Oh no, just scared. He's all right," replied the boy handing out some change.
"Who is he?" asked Grace frankly.
"Oh, a chap that lives at the Point—don't know his name. He's awful quiet and queer—just reads his eyes out—no wonder he wears goggles," finished the clerk, turning to pop a soda for a waiting customer.
The girls breathed easier. Somehow they were each conscious of a dread, and the boy's report had dispelled it as if by magic.
"Oh, say!" he called after them as they were moving away. "Are you the girls who rescued him? Well, he especially warned me to get your names?" This was in question.
"But we shouldn't like to have him bother thanking us," returned Cleo, as spokesman. "We only did a scout duty."
"Oh yes, that's so. You're scouts. Aren't you? I'm a scout too, but we haven't any girls' troop around here. Wish you would start one."
"We may," assented Margaret. "But did you talk to the boy after he revived? Was he perfectly all right?" she questioned pointedly.
"Guess so, but he's a queer chap. Can't tell whether he's all right or all wrong, he's such a stick. Excuse me, here's where I sell a realorder," and he hurried over to an old lady who was vainly trying to shut an obstinate parasol.
Again the girls turned away, and the clerk had not fulfilled his promise to get their names; neither had they obtained the name of the stricken boy.
"But I feel a lot better," admitted Cleo. "Somehow, it isn't nice to see a boy as still as he was."
"I should say not," added Grace. "And I couldn't help thinking of Benny. I've never seen him still in his life, but I don't ever want to see him as quiet as that. And say, girls—" and she drew as many of them to her as her arms would reach, "the bottom of that boat was full ofyellowpaper rolls!"
"He couldn't be the fire-bug!" protested Louise.
"I don't believe he could either," went on Grace, now really serious. "But I thought I ought to mention about the papers."
"And the boat man's boy said he lived over on the island," mused Cleo. "I'm glad we got out of leaving our names. He might come around to thank us—and he might carry—a torch!"
This sally revived the girls' spirits to the extent of producing the first laugh they had enjoyed since the accident; and to demonstrate the possible torch bearing, Cleo paraded on ahead with a long stick up-raised, while Graceand Louise followed with the crabs squirming in their basket.
"Now, we shall divide the spoils," said Margaret, when the town was reached, and the group should separate for their respective cottages.
"How many are there?" queried Cleo.
"Any one may have my share," offered Julia. "I don't ever want to see a crab again as long as I live," and her face fell to positive freezing point.
"Now, Julie dear, don't take on so," teased Grace. "No telling what our Wise Willie may turn out to be, and just think—you held his foot when we dragged him in."
"Grace, just you stop, I am nervous," pleaded Julia, "and I didn't hold his foot, it was his hand."
If Julia was really nervous, the laugh and merry-making that followed her naïve remark must certainly have dispelled the quakes, for presently she was shaking with laughter rather than with nerves.
"But the crabs!" insisted Grace. "Let's draw for them," and she dragged the girls over to a little terrace where they unceremoniously squatted down.
"Here are nice long and short straws," offered Louise, breaking off some tall grass ends. "Julia, you can say which wins, long or short?"
"Please don't ask me to decide anything about those crabs," protested Julia. "And if you don't mind I'll just run along. Mother expects folks to dinner. I had a lovely time—" she stopped to allow the girls' laugh time to penetrate. Force of habit in "having a good time" seemed too absurd now, when all were just recovering from the accident shock.
"Oh, we know what you mean, Julia," teased Grace. "You had a lovely time holding Willie's foot—hand I mean, I forgot it was his hand."
But Julia was off, down the avenue, her light hair floating like a cloud about her shoulder, and her slim figure—the girls called it svelt—still proclaiming her the little girl, in spite of her grown up manners. Every one liked Julia; she was pensive and temperamental, but distinctively individual withal.
"No use my winning those crabs," said Margaret, "we haven't any one to shell them, or cook them, or do anything with them."
"You can put them in a tub of water and let them grow up," suggested Cleo, drawing a long straw, when a short one would decide the crabs.
"There, Louise, you have them. Take them! I hope they make you a lovely salad, and that they don't make you sick."
"ISN'T it queer how no one seems to know any one else?" remarked Grace, with more words than meaning.
"You mean every one seems a stranger to every one else," added Cleo, affecting the same ambiguity.
"Yes; to put it collectively, the whole town is being populated by rank 'furriners,'" said Louise, "but I can explain the analogy. You see, when summer comes the natives pack up and leave their homes to rent them profitably. That means only the post-master, and store keepers stay put."
"I have asked more questions and got fewer answers since I came to Sea Crest than I would have believed possible to ask and not receive," declared Cleo. "But what is your special trouble, Grace?"
"I asked a couple of girls who our queer Letty was and they didn't know. Now, they were barefoot and peddling clams, the kind they dig up in the sand, and does it seem possible they would not know that girl?"
"They may come in from another town," suggested Louise. "It is quite possible they wouldn't know a thing but clams. I have found that out. But let's hurry off. I've got the lunch, and we are not to go farther than the Point. I have learned that girls go out there with perfect safety, and there's a nice little ice cream place tended by a perfectly prim, gray-haired lady, who keeps an eye all over the Point. It must be a very small point, or the woman must have a long distance eye," finished Louise.
"We are going in the launch, of course," asked and answered Cleo. "I had to assure mother that the man who runs it has a brand new license, and I almost promised to bring back the number. Mother is so afraid of all sorts of motors."
Ready for the excursion to Weasle Point, Grace, Cleo, and Louise, garbed in their practical scout uniforms and armed with fishing rods and a lunch box, started off in time to take the River Queen on its first trip of the afternoon. A few other passengers embarked with the girls; a mother with a small son and daughter, two business men, and the boy with supplies for the island fruit stand.
This number seemed to satisfy the captain who, after counting heads, started off. Across the river, then into the bay that widened as it neared the ocean, the River Queen glided gracefullyover to the little strip of land jutting out, with its clump of deep green pines, and the ever present picnic sign.
"Isn't this lovely?" exclaimed Louise. "I am so sorry Julia had to go to the city."
"And that Mary is not down yet," added Cleo, "but we can come again. It's a perfectly lovely sail."
Landing at the improvised dock the girls quickly found the most secluded corner of the little grove, and although they had lunched at home, the sail was a potent appetizer, and the proposed spread was eagerly arranged.
It was very quiet on the strip of sand selected by the little party. Like a narrow ribbon the Point lay on the waters, and the deeper woodlands were evidently unpopular and little traversed, for not even a path greeted the scouts in their rambles.
"I wonder why the place is called Weasle Point?" questioned Cleo. "Are we supposed to hunt weasels out here?"
"I don't even know what the beast looks like," replied Grace. "Are they bearish or wolfish?"
"Neither, they are little snappy things that eat birds," said Louise. "I've heard daddy tell of them—he's quite a hunter, you know. But I don't fancy we will be attacked."
They had disposed of their lunch, and were exploring. All sorts of odd growing thingswere discovered, from the almost invisible wintergreen, that hugs the earth as if fearful of standing alone, to the wide spreading sweet fern, that lords it over every other green thing under the trees.
More than once shouts of "Snake!" were sent up, and each time this proved to be a false alarm, or the snake must have made good its escape, for no horrible crawling reptile came to view, in spite of the most desperate thrashing of bushes, and beating of brush, following each alarm.
"Oh, see here!" called Louise, who had wandered some distance from her companions. "Here is the dearest little dove, eating our lunch crumbs. He carried them out here to safety."
Quietly the girls stole up to a pretty soft spot in the thicket, and there found a little pigeon enjoying the last crumbs of Cleo's cake. Although the approach meant some more crackling of leaves and sticks, the bird seemed not the least disturbed, in fact, as the scouts looked down he looked up with a perky twist of his graceful throat.
"Must be tame," suggested Louise. "I hope those children down by the water don't come romping up to scare him off."
Cautiously Grace approached in that steady, definite manner that always seems to mean still motion. The bird hardly fluttered, but whenthe girl threw out a few more crumbs he proudly hopped toward her.
"He has something tied to his leg," said Grace, keeping her voice down to almost a murmur. "I believe he is a carrier pigeon."
"Surely," agreed Louise, for the tiny speck on the bird's leg was plainly an aluminum strip such as marks the carrier bird.
The same thought flashed through the mind of each—who would be sending private messages through that grove!
"I suppose we wouldn't dare look at the note," said Grace. "They are always in a piece of gelatine under the wing."
"My, no," replied Cleo, "that would be equivalent to robbing the mails."
"But this mail seems to want robbing," said Louise quietly, "just see how he waits? Maybe this is his station."
So intent were they on watching the dove they did not hear an approaching step. It came so stealthfully, creeping along the soft marshy ground, scarcely a sound broke the woodland stillness; only the voices of children down at the landing, giving evidence of other life than that of the Girl Scouts on the island.
"Oh see!" said Grace. "This leg is hurt. Perhaps that is why he doesn't fly off," and noticing for the first time that the bird hopped on one slender leg, Grace stepped up nearer to examine the injury. As she did a voice soundedjust back of the group, and a very sharp voice it was.
"Hey there! You leave that bird alone!" came the shrill order.
Turning, they confronted the girl they had privately named Letty.
"Oh, is he your bird?" asked Louise confidently. "He seems to be injured, and we thought we might help fix the injury."
"Oh, yes, you did," sneered the girl. "A whole lot you thought that. Guess you had an eye on Lovey's mail bag. Here Lovey!" she sort of cooed to the bird. The change in her voice was remarkable. It softened to a caress as she stooped to pick up the little carrier pigeon.
First she looked at the leg, which, it appeared, had been hurt, but was mending. Assuring herself this was all right the child perched the bird on her shoulder and stood there a picture for the eye of an artist.
Standing at a little distance the girls regarded her cautiously. There she stood in her bare feet, with a tattered dress, her hair cropped out as if cut with a single snip of a powerful scissors, and that pretty bird perched contentedly on her shoulder!
After satisfying her inclination for this unconscious pose, she cuddled the bird in the crook of her arm, and again confronted the girls.
"You don't ever want to interfere with anythingaround here," she warned, assuming again the high pitched voice. "And if you don't run away you might miss your boat."
"Oh, we wouldn't mind," Grace had courage to say. "We are not afraid of the woods, and it's early yet. There seem to be other people here who have to get back to Sea Crest."
"Snoopin' eh?" sneered the girl again. "Well, you want to watch out. You're the smarties that tried to drown Bentley, ain't you?"
"Who said we ever tried to drown any one?" demanded Cleo, stepping up to the girl, whose bare feet looked almost black, and whose short hair stood around her face with the wildest effect—almost Fiji, the girls thought.
"Well, I ain't saying Bentley did," she answered, "but some one did, and you better be gettin'."
"Seems to me you are not very polite," said Louise. "Here we offer to help you fix up your bird, and you try to chase us," she declared. "Well, we are in no hurry, and don't you go saying anything about us drowning folks, do you hear?" and Louise surprised herself with her courage. "We saved a boy from drowning the other day, and were glad to do it, but we had nothing to do with the accident, and it won't be well for any one to spread malicious reports about us either!"
Had the other scouts dared they would haveapplauded, but the occasion demanded different tactics.
"Oh, ain't you smart! I suppose you're scouts too, in them rigs. Maybe you'll go tattlin' on me and try to have me 'pinched.' Well, there ain't nobody 'round here dasts to touch me, so you needn't bother."
"We had no idea of tattling on you, but it seems you have taken a lot of trouble to bother us, since we came," retorted Cleo.
"And you was down on the beach when the barrel went off and burned some of the guards things, wasn't you?" she went on, ignoring the charge Cleo had made. "You know they're after the firebug, an' you better watch out!"
This seemed too much. The girls fairly fumed with indignation.
"Yes, we were down there, and nearly got burned with the way that barrel went up," fired back Grace as quickly as she could get her breath, "but we don't know anything about the firebugyet. But we are going to. Do you know who the Weasle is?" she asked indignantly.
"The Weasle!" and the girl burst into a choppy laugh. "Me, know who the Weasle is?" she repeated again. "That's a good 'un. Why don't you ask Bentley?" and before they realized her intention she stooped for the empty lunch box, and with her free hand threw it full force at Louise's head. Dodging it Louise wasready to start after the creature, but before she could do so they saw her reach the water's edge, jump into a skiff and row swiftly away.
"Talk about cyclones," began Cleo, when she had recovered from her surprise. "Whatever do you call that human tornado?"
"We don't call her," replied Grace. "I just think we ought to make a complaint about her. Think of her saying we tried to drown a boy!"
"I'll tell you," said Louise soberly. "She isn't right in her mind."
"But right enough to make a lot of trouble for folks," retorted Cleo. "There she goes now for Looney Point. Maybe that's what Captain Dave warned us to keep clear of."
"Let's get down among the other people," suggested Grace. "It's a little too lonely up here."
"And I guess we had better take the next boat back," added Louise. "Something might just happen that we would be left."
When they reached the dock the launch was about ready to start, and piling in they soon found themselves again facing Sea Crest Pier.
So the afternoon had been one of surprise and disappointment.