Leonore had driven up with the car, and before the stragglers around the pier could question them, the girls had their charge in the comfortable seat, where he lay back in very apparent relief.

"Which way?" inquired the young girl driving.

"To the river dock," called Grace; and all crowded in the roomy car, they started off with their strange passenger.



CHAPTER X

PLANNING FOR ACTION

"NOW, don't trouble another bit," protested the old man when Leonore pulled into the little boat landing. "I'll take the next boat across, and be all right, thank you for helping me. You're a fine set of girls."

From the time they had left Borden's pier the girls had been tactfully trying to find out where he lived, and why they couldn't drive him directly to his place. But to all their inquiries he answered evasively, and was most positive in declaring they could not fetch him home.

"But you are scarcely able to walk," protested Helen. "Why won't you let us drive around there with you? You know this car can easily cover that distance in a few minutes."

"I'm sorry to seem ungrateful," he replied, and the girls noticed his voice was almost sobbing. "But I can't let you do it."

"And you live on that Luna Island?" queried Grace gently.

"I do, worse luck," he answered. "But we must take things as they come. There's Jenning's boat. He'll bring me across."

They reluctantly assisted the aged passenger to alight and watched him climb into the rain-soaked launch. He stumbled and almost fell into the seat under the dripping canopy. Captain Jennings propped the leather cushions under his sagging arms, and as the girls turned away from the landing they heard the motor of the River Queen chug out.

"No wonder they call that place over there Looney Land," remarked Julia. "It seems to me we are all meeting more of its loons every day."

"We have come across quite a few," admitted Cleo. "But this old man was nice; I liked him."

"Why didn't you ask him for a pass to the island then?" remarked Louise. "That still seems to be forbidden territory."

"Yes, something like 'No Man's Land'. But did any one ever hear of 'No Scout's Land?' That's the beauty of belonging to a privileged organization."

"Queer thing how every one warns us to keep away from there," said Julia. "Every one but Bentley. Wonder what he would say if we asked him for a pass!"

"That's a brilliant idea, Julie," declared Margaret. "The very thing to do is to ask Ben."

"I knew that boy's name ought to be something with Ben in it," remarked Grace. "I seemed to outline it in his face when he reminded me of my own wild, but adorable little brother Ben. Of course, we never see our own boys down here except at meals, or we might get them to help us."

"We don't even get ours at meals," said Helen. "Mother says we might better all be in a hotel or boarding house, for all the home life we get out of our cottage."

"Let's stop at our place and finish up our scout meeting," suggested Cleo. "The storm sort of broke up our session."

So Leonore accommodatingly let them down in front of the Log Cabin, and on the spacious rustic porch there the interrupted meeting was again convened.

"Grace, if you are going to act as secretary, I think you should keep records. When our summer is over we shall enjoy looking back at them."

"All right," agreed Grace, preparing pencil and pad for notes.

"We must remember," cautioned Margaret, "that we are pledged to protect ourselves as well as others. Now, how do we know it is safe to go to that island? Suppose there is some disease there?"

"We must find out more definitely about that, of course," spoke up Mary, who was now a professed Tenderfoot. "It would be rash to run into some dreadful sickness."

"Also, we must question our motives and make sure we are not doing this out of rank curiosity," declared Louise sagely. "That would be silly, even if pardonable, and I don't think we could make a very creditable report to headquarters on such a pretense."

"Oh, that is clear enough," insisted Cleo. "It is just this way. We were confronted by this fire-bug thing, directly we struck the place, and its evidence has been piling up ever since. Every few nights a fire breaks out—and no one is able to discover the culprit."

"And that note we found was a challenge. It was written for who ever might pick it up, and we happened to be the 'whoevers'" said Louise. "So it plainly seems like our duty to run down the Weasle."

"But just why would you think the writer was on the island?" asked Helen, who, having come down late was not entirely familiar with all the details of the situation.

"We haven't any positive reason for that supposition," admitted Margaret; "but things point that way, and we must run down that clue first. Besides, it is very strange how every one warns us to keep away from Luna Land. It makes it fascinating, to say the least."

"Almost a good reason for going," remarked Mary. "And now girls, will you come over to the hotel this evening, if you are free from other engagements? We are going to have a children's entertainment in the ball room, and I would love to have every one come."

"But our dresses?" asked Grace. "What should we wear?"

"It's a novelty thing, and you can wear whatever you please," answered Mary.

"How about all going as a troop? We would advertise the scouts, and it's lovely and cool now after that shower."

"Oh, that would be splendid!" enthused Mary. "Since all the war work has moved off the earth nothing seems to have really taken the uniform's place. And as you say, it will be wonderfully cool to-night."

"And another positive advantage to uniform is that one can't out-do the other in togs. I love that," declared Helen, "although we all have pretty party dresses."

So the True Treds scattered, keen with the anticipation of novelty night at the Colonade.

It is safe to guess that in the short time intervening there was much activity in each scout's home, in the matter of pressing uniforms, for even "going as a troop" would mean public inspection. Yet this amount of work was comparatively small compared with what might have been their task had dancing dresses been demanded.

Into the gold and white ball-room of the Colonade the True Treds were ushered with quite an imposing ceremony a few hours later; and if Grace and Cleo wanted to giggle, the pomposity of the uniformed functionaries forbade any such frivolity.

Mary was there to welcome them, and with her was her fashionable aunt, Miss Constance Hastings, who was also distantly related to Cleo, through the marriage of Cleo's aunt to Mary's father's brother—remote but definite, just the same.

A perceptible stir was occasioned by the entrance of the girls; and since they were really quite a small troop, they walked in in pairs. Grace and Cleo led, then came Margaret and Louise, Julia and Helen, besides Isabel Gantor and Elizabeth Bissell, two True Treds who had come down that very afternoon, and altogether they made a fine showing for the scouts.

After the first flush of excitement the usual exchange of compliments occupied the girls. Cleo had grown so much taller, every one thought so, and her gray eyes and fair hair were really "a lot prettier." Grace had better be careful or she would get stout, why not roll on the beach every day? Elizabeth suggested this, while the tables were then turned on Elizabeth herself, who was declared to be far from thin.

"I am not getting fat," declared the jolly little Elizabeth. "I'm simply warped from being out in the rain. You should see my farm."

Then Helen was warned that such beautiful coloring as glowed in her cheeks, and such shadows as lurked under her dark eyes would some day put her in the class of distinguished foreigners, but when she protested that Irish are not so considered, and that those characteristics were hers because of that sort of connection, the girls passed her by as "satisfactory."

The opening strains of the orchestra prohibited further exchange of compliments or criticism, and the scouts paired off for a lively trot.

All the dance seemed suited to their uniforms, in fact, most steps were then executed with some precision, rather military in effect.

All about them buzzed the fairy-like children in such gorgeous styles, as seem specially concocted for big summer hotels; and resting between dances our girls had plenty of opportunity to observe the variety of plumage under which the little summer birds flew.

It was during intermission that the master of ceremonies approached Isabel; she happened to be the tallest of the scouts, and he asked her if they would favor the company with some troop manoeuvers, but on consulting the other girls they declined to do so.

"You see," Mary explained, as she was best acquainted with the hotel staff, "we could not do anything in public as a troop without permission. And while this is almost a private gathering, we feel it best to adhere to the rules."

"Still it was flattering to be asked," commented Cleo.

"Let's go out on the porch," suggested Mary. "We will have a beautiful view of the ocean to-night."

But it so happened that something else than the scenic effect entertained them, on the spacious side porch of the Colonade that evening.



CHAPTER XI

AT THE COLONADE

THEY felt quite like grown-ups out there in the moonlight, on the carpeted piazzas, with the music from the ballroom wafting out through the many open windows.

Here and there in sheltered nooks, knots of young folks buzzed their confidences, while the scouts chose two long, low divans, directly off the exchange, where they might at once enjoy the music of the waves and the rhythm of the orchestra.

It all seemed too pleasant to mar with ordinary conversation, so holding hands as girls will, the companions sank down to enjoy the wonderful summer night.

They were not more than settled when two young men sauntered out of the smoking room and took the seat just back of their divan. The girls nudged each other, and squeezed hands, but did not emit the usual warning cough.

"Well, I am glad to hear from Dick," spoke one of the men; "I tell you, he did great work in our little old war."

"You-bet-y'u," replied the second voice, slurring his words together as young men do, and giving them that jolly twang peculiar to the college boy.

"Yes, sir, Dick Gordon is some boy, and I'll be mighty glad to see him."

Grace almost pinched Cleo's arm to the yelling point. "That's my Jackie—the one who owns my marine room," she said in a low voice.

"Keep your window locked," cautioned Cleo.

"And he's still on the blue?" went on the masculine voice.

"Still is—you-bet-cha," replied his companion. "Regular Willie off the yacht, only he's bound to be Richard on the yacht. Seems some millionaire family he knew—there may be a girl in it—prevailed on him to take a yacht out this summer, so he's sailing her—the yacht I mean; I'm only guessing at the girl."

Isabel coughed audibly. It was just like her to do so and she either had to cough or laugh, and she hastily decided on expressing herself in the least conspicuous outburst.

For a few minutes the young men ceased speaking, and in the interval the girls undertook to carry on something like a conversation; at least they were endeavoring to make their presence known to the other occupants of that corner of the porch.

Thus establishing a general hum of voices, remarks from the young men only floated in as the girls might pause, or giggle, or hesitate about staying longer from the dance floor.

"So old Dick will be back before summer sundown?" they heard.

"Sure thing, you bet'cha," replied the second voice, "and we'll all be here to give the cheers."

"But the Gordon place is rented. Wonder what Dick will do without all his junk?"

"That's so. Well, we can bring him here. All the gang will be back by that time."

"Heard when and where he comes in?"

"Depends upon the yachters, of course. But Dick said something about a lady's good health or bad health, I forgot which."

A bevy of young ladies now discovered the youths who had been thus enjoying a smoke and talk, and the boys were promptly carried off to the ball room, where the strains of an alluring waltz were floating.

"Now Gracie, see what's going to happen?" exclaimed Louise, as soon as talking thus was safe. "Your adorable Dick of the marine room is coming back on a yacht, and he's going to miss his junk."

"And maybe he'll give us a sail on the millionaire's yacht!" suggested Grace.

"See that it includes every True Tred. There, I believe the grown-ups are breaking in on our evening," complained Mary. "Let's make a march out of that waltz."

"Don't you have wonderful times here, Mary?" asked Grace, entering the brilliant room again.

"Yes, but I can't say that I like it better than a simple home life," replied Mary. "We travel so much, and it's hotel all the time——"

"But you are going to spend next week with me," interrupted Cleo. "I hardly realize it yet that you are my really truly coz," and she gave the girl's long, brown braids a familiar twerk.

"Whatever did you do with old Reda?" asked Grace, referring to the picturesque nurse who played so important a part in our second volume, "The Girl Scouts of Bellaire."

"Daddy made her comfortable for life," replied Mary. "He considered she had done everything that she know how to do for me, and mother's folks decided she would be happier among her own people. But Aunt Constance asked me to bring you up to her sitting room to-night, and as soon as you have had enough of this, suppose we go up?"

It was well the sitting room was spacious, for the scouts numbered quite a company. However the wealthy Miss Hastings greeted them warmly, and seemed greatly interested in their organization.

"I can never forget how you discovered our little Mary for us," she said, placing her hand lovingly on Mary's shoulder, "and if ever I can do anything to help you, please let me know. It is splendid to have girls united under such principles. Mary has charmed me with her interpretations of your little manual."

They thanked Miss Hastings for her interest, and smiled over the compliments. The girls were quite bewildered with the luxurious surroundings. Everything seemed so velvety, and so much cushioned, and all this was enhanced by the soft glitter of the shaded lights, and the rose-tinted glow of the color scheme. Here, at least, scout uniform seemed out of place.

Miss Hastings was what we might discreetly call a mellow blonde, not implying or imputing anything artificial to her blondness. She had the very softest blue eyes, and wore the daintiest orchid tint gown; but in spite of her apparent luxury, she instantly inspired the girls with a feeling of ease and confidence.

Mary fluttered about, displaying such trophies of her southern tour as might safely be carried to her hotel abode; and when the sight-seeing was done, Cleo exacted a promise from Miss Hastings, that Mary might spend a complete week with her.

This was the signal for a perfect flood of similar invitations, and when the girls left the suite, their evening dance cards were well marked with dates to visit and dates to entertain Mary Dunbar, Cleo's popular cousin.

"What worries me is that Dick boy coming over in the yacht," remarked Isabel jokingly. "Seems to me Grace is in for a wonderful time."

"But he may be on shore leave," added Julia, "then he wouldn't be any more attractive than our 'you-bet-chu' chap," she said, indicating the young man who inserted that boyish expression so often in his conversation.

The children were leaving the ballroom when the scouts took their final drink of pink lemonade, as Grace insisted on calling the fruit punch, and as they came out to the porch for their "good-nights," mothers and nurses were gathering the fluttering little ones to their arms.

They were about to leave when a shrill voice from the hall startled every one, "Oh, come quick, a doctor! My baby is choking!"

A mother uttered the cry. In an instant every one was in confusion looking for a doctor, but it so happened in all that big hotel at the moment no physician could be found.

"What shall I do!" wailed the mother, now wringing her hands and begging for help. "I don't know how—to save—my darling!"

Quick as a flash Julia broke away through the crowd and, followed by Louise and Helen, she made her way to the room of the distracted parent and the suffering child.

On the bed lay the little child, gasping, choking, his face almost purple. No one had attempted to do anything but look on in horror, as people usually do under such exciting conditions.

Julia, however, summoned all her courage and her scout training, and grabbing the little one before she had a chance to suffer from hesitation, she held his little heels high as she could stretch them, and shook him vigorously, while the distracted mother looked on in consternation. When the Girl Scout's strength failed, and she allowed the child to sink down on the bed again, the safety pin, he had almost swallowed, lay beside him on the coverlet.

It was all over in so few minutes that Louise and Helen merely looked on to encourage Julia.

"Oh, my darling, my darling!" wailed the excited mother. "Are you alive? Does he breathe?"

"He will be all right directly," said Helen, surprising herself with her own calmness. "Just give him plenty of air."

By now those who had assembled in idle curiosity had dispersed, leaving room for the other scouts to come within sight of the open door.

Quickly as the chubby youngster recovered his breath he made a grab at the neck tie that floated from Julia's blouse. Then he wanted to play with the buttons on her skirt, and he evinced such other evidence of good fellowship that every one stood by in silent admiration.

The mother, however, had recovered her composure sufficiently to thank Julia; and this she did most profusely.

"What would I have done?" she asked. "I simply went to pieces, in a perfect panic, when I saw that boy choke. Oh, here is Neal," turning to greet a young man who just entered the room. "Neal, do come and meet these wonderful little girls. They saved the baby brother. In another moment, I am sure, he would have strangled."

And before them stood one of the young men who had entertained them unawares on the West porch, an hour earlier. He added his thanks to those of his mother, while the baby brother kicked delightedly on the badly tossed bed.

"And you knew more about it than mother," he remarked, a note of incredulity in his voice. "But I see you are scouts. They teach you emergency stunts in your organization, I suppose."

"Yes," replied Julia covered with confusion and anxious to escape; and escape she did directly the good-looking Neal stepped aside, and bowed the girls graciously into the corridor.

"I almost choked myself," admitted Louise.

"I will do so yet," declared Helen.



CHAPTER XII

ON THE SANDS

"AS a quiet evening it was a cyclone," said Julia to her congratulating companions. "I really was not sure whether I should shake both the heels at once, or in rapid succession, but when I saw that safety pin—oh, girls!" and she pretended to slink down into the supporting arms offered her.

"Whether premeditated or a mere accident you did nobly," declared Margaret, "and I shouldn't wonder if handsome young Neal wouldn't want to join our troop. Isn't he stunning looking?"

"But he is the friend of marine Richard—he who is coming in on the millionaire's yacht," put in Grace. "Therefore Julia, you and I shall divide the honors. Joking aside girls, what is our program for the morrow?"

"Bathing, of course—high tide at ten-thirty," announced Julia.

"After that we will pay a call at Captain Dave's Life Saving Station," said Cleo. "In fact we can run over there from the beach. We have simply got to find out all he knows about Luna Island."

They were on their way home from the Colonade, and as it was still early, the streets were populated with summer visitors just leaving the pavilions, the boardwalks, picture theaters, or hotels. Each scout leaving the group left one less to the usual "last tag" game, which again became of interest to the young girls, not yet too dignified to enjoy such pleasure romps.

Next morning at the beach a number of new arrivals were added to the list of their companions, as each day now brought its own quota of visitors to the popular summer resort, and it was surely "the more the merrier."

"Good swimming in the cove," announced Cleo, "at least we call it the cove, but it's really a little lake, made smooth by the banked up sand bar. Come on everybody, up to Third Avenue."

Surf boards added to the sport, and while every morning was a holiday at the beach, to-day seemed something of legal type; such a wonderfully merry time the colonists were enjoying. All the scouts were swimmers; Grace as usual was daring to the point of risk, Cleo quickly followed every prank she initiated, and the others found plenty of fun either attempting to follow, or originating their own brand of frolic.

What is more alluring than the ocean on the right sort of summer day? Beyond the bar steamers could just be seen emitting their long, smoky ribbons over the water, that from the distance seemed so close to the sky as to be merely a first floor with that blue mottled ceiling. A few daring swimmers would work their way out in canoes, taking the rollers at constant risk of submersion, then come sailing in like a shot, never making a break in the dash until past the bathers, and out on the very beach each little bark would triumphantly land. This was great sport, but few girls were brave enough to indulge in it.

The life savers, two stalwart youths, so bronzed as to glisten in the sun like copper models—sat on the high bench under the big beach sunshade. They could see above the heads of the crowds, far out past the danger line, and theirs was the responsibility of keeping track of every foolish boy, or more foolish girl, who ventured beyond the ropes.

At last the scouts did get together, and made a run through the wet sand, along the edge toward the fishing pier, and from there it was only a matter of crossing the street to reach the life saving station.

In a trot, popular as exercise after bathing, all four girls, Louise, Grace, Cleo and Julia started off. The far end of the bathing beach was now deserted, the hour approaching lunch or dinner always exacting the dressing process, hotel guests especially, being obliged to report in the dining-room on time.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," begged Cleo. "I thought I saw a piece of pink coral."

"Pink coral doesn't grow around here," protested Grace. "You likely saw a blushing fish bone. Don't bother with it. You know how we made out with the pink crabs."

"Yes," put in Julia. "Let's change our color scheme. Here's a lovely amethyst shell."

The trot was started up again, heads erect, shoulders back, and elbows in—regular marathon for the beach on this perfect summer's day.

"Look here!" called Cleo. "Here's another message about—fire-bugs. See it spells: 'L-O-O-K O-U-T'" she figured it out in the sand. "There, would you ever think one would be so daring?"

They all paused to read the letters so crudely forked in the wet sand.

"Yes," insisted Julia. "There's 'bug.' Guess they didn't dare write the word 'fire'."

A lone figure on a lone bench up near the boardwalk attracted their attention at the same moment.

"If there isn't our boy!" exclaimed Louise. "Now, doesn't that almost prove him guilty?"

"No, it doesn't," objected his champion, Grace. "He's too far away—besides——"

"Any one could make letters in the sand," put in Julia. "Think of the hundreds of children who played here all morning. Come on," and she started the race again.

But they had scarcely gone a hundred yards when she stopped very suddenly.

"Oh, mercy!" she screamed. "I stepped on——"

"You bet you did! You stepped on me!"

The answer came from a grotesque figure that had just pulled itself out of the sand, and it was none other than the girl, still known only as "Letty."

"I didn't mean to," apologized Julia, for, as a matter of fact, she had come full weight on the sand hill under which was buried the girl.

"Well, you didn't break any bones," said the girl, with less antagonism than she had formerly displayed. "But I thought the sky fell—guess I was dreaming."

She dragged herself up and shook the sand from her unkempt skirt, although the action seemed unnecessary, then grinned at the girls in the most comic way.

This was a signal for Grace to howl, and howl she did, to be followed by the others, every one seeming glad that Letty had not "thrown her head at them," as was her usual attitude in meeting the scouts.

"And you go swimmin' in there?" she asked, pointing a mocking finger at the ocean.

"Surely, don't you?" asked Louise.

"Me? Well, I guess not. No more ocean for Kitty," and she turned her back to the waves, meanwhile pulling a long, wry face.

"Are you Kitty?" asked Cleo.

"Yep, that's me. They call me Kitty Scuttle, but Scuttle ain't my name. Boys give me that 'cause I shoo them off the island."

Here was an opening. Louise seized it.

"Sit down and tell us about it, Kitty," she said. "You know we really had no idea of bothering your dove the other day. Did his leg fix up all right?"

"Guess so, but he ain't my bird," and she did actually flop down in the sand, much to their surprise.

"Why don't you like the ocean?" asked Grace.

"The ocean is a coward. It fights women and babies," she said, a queer mocking irony marking her words.

"Yes," agreed Louise, to placate her, "the ocean is treacherous."

"An' cruel," she sort of hissed. "I came from that ocean on a rope once, and I'll never go back on it while I'm alive."

"Oh, you were shipwrecked," ventured Cleo, her mind running to the story of the little girl on the frozen mother's breast, told them by Captain Dave.

"Yes, Mom never spoke to me again, and I hate that ocean ever since."

The girls exchanged glances. Surely she must be the one spoken of by Captain Dave.

"But you like still-water?" suggested Grace, in order to relieve the tension.

"Love the little Round River, Glimmer Lake, and even the bay," replied Kitty, "but not that monster."

It seemed to the scouts she used a queer mixture of phrases. Cleo thought she might be addicted to reading sensational books.

"Do you go to school?" queried Julia.

"Sure, every one has to go to school, and I don't stay on the island in winter." This last was said in a tone implying every one ought to know that.

"You come over here in winter?" It was Louise who dared press that question. They all felt Kitty was due to take another tantrum any minute. She had been almost dangerously good, so far.

"Yep," the finality of this spoke for itself.

"We're just going over to the life saving station to see Captain Dave," said Cleo. "Glad we didn't hurt you as we ran."

"Couldn't," said Kitty. "I don't hurt. Nothin' touches me. And say, I wasn't mad when I pegged the box at you the other day. I was just funnin'."

"You didn't hurt me either," returned Louise, quite as good-naturedly. "A little pasteboard box couldn't hurt a scout."

"Do you belong to the government?" asked Kitty suddenly.

"We're not enlisted, if that's what you mean," answered Cleo, "but we learn to give service if it is needed."

"I'd like a suit like yours. Must be fine for fogs. Sometimes I can't get into my rags they're so soggy over there in the woods."

Every one silently agreed such clothes as she possessed would surely become "soggy" under the trees.

"But only a scout can wear the uniform," said Grace, being careful to use a very kindly tone.

"What do you have to do?" inquired Kitty, evincing interest.

"When we meet you again we'll tell you about it," replied Louise. "But, say Kitty, we want to take a trip over to the island some day. Shall we see you over there?"

"To the island!" she shouted, and all her gentleness was gone instantly. "Don't you dare; the dogs would eat you up!"

"Oh, no, we don't mind dogs," Cleo hurried to say. "Besides, you must know them and you could keep them in check."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she was plainly excited now. "Don't you dare come over to Looney Land. The reason I liked you was on account of you fetching Uncle Pete up from the pier. He told me, and I was—thankful."

She hung her head and her cropped hair stood out like a brush around her face. Kitty was a pathetic sight, even when excited.

"Was he your uncle? Is he all right?" asked Louise.

"Nope. He isn't all right. Can't hardly stir ever since. He said he would have died if you girls hadn't helped him, and I want to thank you for that. I'd just die without Uncle Pete."

"Well, good-by," said Julia, as they started off this time positively. "Tell Uncle Pete we will come over to see him soon."

At this the child ran over to Louise and literally grabbed her, seizing her two hands, and holding them as tightly as her own could grasp them.

"Oh, please, please don't come!" she begged, and her eyes had the look of a frightened animal. "You don't know what it would mean to me. And I ask you not to. Won't you promise?"

The girls looked at the changed creature in undisguised astonishment.

"We don't want to bring trouble on you, Kitty, if that is what you mean," said Julia. "But we have promised ourselves a trip to that queer island. Of course, if it would hurt you for us to go——"

"Oh, it would, that's it. It would hurt me more than you could guess. So tell me you won't come over!"

"All right, we'll see," said Cleo, and they hurried off to the bathing house to dress, as the time for visiting Captain Dave had been consumed in talking to Kitty.

"Well, what do you think of that?" almost gasped Cleo when they joined the other girls who had been impatiently waiting for the report from the life saving station.

"Whatever is wrong about Luna Land?" added Louise. "Now see where we are at."

"Can't we go?" pouted Grace.

"I don't see why not," put in Julia. "Surely, we couldn't make any trouble, just by going over there. I think that girl is—woozy."

"Well, I think she's pretty sharp," said Cleo, "and until we can find out from some one what is wrong over there, I'll vote to defer the trip. Suppose we really should bring trouble on that poor cropped head!"

"That's so," agreed Grace, though it was plain the change in plans brought disappointment to the entire group. "Let's hurry. We must have talked half an hour. And I promised not to be one minute late for lunch."

"We have such a time with meals—never can get folks together," said Cleo, hastily jumping in to her blouse and skirt.

"All the same," insisted Margaret, "we must go to the life saving station right after lunch."

"And how about our tennis game? We promised Mary, you know, to go over for a couple of sets this afternoon."

"We never seem to get to tennis," deplored Louise. "But let's all meet at Borden's at two o'clock, and then we can decide what to do."

"There's Leonore looking for me," called out Grace.

"And there's Jerry looking for me," added Cleo.

"Come on girls, pile in, plenty of room," called Gerald; and those who did not run to his car flocked to the one driven by Leonore, so that the belated scouts made good time, then at least, in getting to their respective cottages.



CHAPTER XIII

A BLANKET OF FOG

THE genuine good times of summer, such as seem to sprout up daily and scatter enough seeds to insure an equal good time on the morrow, had given the scouts such a round of gayety, that a full week dashed by before they could again settle down to work on the mystery of Luna Land.

Girls coming down to the beach from the city, others leaving for the mountains, a round of cottage entertaining, besides events at the casino, swimming contests, hotel entertainments—all these and many other features, served to keep the girls delightfully busy at the gay little summer resort, Sea Crest.

But in spite of such attraction a rainy spell will set in, and set in it did, good and plenty, along about the middle of July. Then it was that the resources of cottage and hotel were taxed to keep the visitors contented.

Mary, at the Colonade, had been a veritable benefactress, for there something was always going on; but Miss Constance Hastings found she could not stand the damp chill of continued rain and heavy fog, so quite unexpectedly she "pulled up stakes," and as Mary would not think of letting her go on to Tuxedo alone, there was suddenly one True Tred less at Sea Crest.

"What would we do without the life saving station and Captain Dave?" Grace asked, trudging along through the dense fog, toward those quarters. "Come along Weasie, I wouldn't wonder but Helen and Julia will come in from the other way. Do you suppose the sun will ever shine again?"

"Bound to," replied Louise, "but this awful fog!"

"My conscience is mildewed and my temper is blue molded," declared Grace. "Just look at what used to be the ocean."

"Come on over to the pier," suggested Louise. "I love to watch the breakers tear up against the piles."

The boardwalk was all but deserted, not more than the heroic health seekers who walk in all kinds of weather, having courage enough to promenade.

Under the shelter of the pavilion the girls stopped to see if any one they knew might be about, when a figure under an umbrella, far over in a corner protected from the blanket of fog, caught their attention.

"The boy!" said Grace. "Let's go over and speak to him."

"He might get stage fright and again jump overboard," laughingly returned Louise.

"Any port in a storm," quoted Grace. "If I don't talk to some one I'll just have to ring myself up on the telephone. I'm dark blue."

"Nice compliment to your chum," remarked Louise, smiling good-naturedly.

"You know I didn't mean it that way, Weasie. But honestly, why is everything so horrid?"

"Guess because we are used to so much excitement we don't know how to slow down. At least that's what mother is always preaching."

"See, he looks! He sees!" gasped Grace, her voice not so blue or drab in tone as might have been expected.

The boy had lowered his umbrella, and touched his cap to the girls. He even smiled.

"Is it possible? At last!" Grace continued to elocute. "Now just watch me bring him to my feet."

She seized the arm of Louise and led her to the corner where the boy, as ever, was trying to devour his book. At their approach he quickly closed the covers, jammed papers in his pockets, and then waited to speak to the girls who had dragged him out of Round River a month before.

"Hello," he greeted them, and both were glad he was boyish enough to be frank, and not stiff.

"Wonderful day," Grace chirped in with banality.

"If you don't care what you say," he replied brightly.

"But we do, so we'll tell the truth. It's an awful day," declared Louise.

"Don't try to sit here," the boy said. He had risen, of course. "The benches are wet enough to float me as the river did. Come over to the other end. The wind doesn't drive the fog in there."

Louise and Grace followed him, glad of the prospect of a little chat to break the storm's monotony.

"I've been wanting to thank you," began the boy. "My name is Bentley Arnold."

"And this Louise Hart and I am Grace Philow," cut in Grace politely.

The boy did not bow or scrape foolishly, but accepted the introduction as any boy should.

In the West corner of the pavilion they found seats, and quickly exhausting the weather topic, drifted to more interesting subjects.

"Did I hear that you live on the island?" asked Grace directly.

"Not exactly," replied Bentley, "but I am staying there just at present."

Not another word! That lead was lost!

"You are awfully fond of reading, aren't you?" Louise asked next.

"Oh, yes, very. Aren't you?"

And the book question was thus threatened to go the way of Grace's query.

"Yes, indeed," Louise hurried. "What sort of books do you like best?"

"Boys' books, and I suppose you like girls' books best," he replied.

Grace and Louise exchanged glances. Each was, no doubt, thinking they might next ask what shade of paper he liked to write on best. The reply would likely be quite as non-committal.

"How can we get over to the island?" Grace dared then. "We are just dying to explore that little Luna Land. It seems so romantic."

"I wouldn't advise you to visit there just now," he replied. "Nothing to see but woods, and rocks."

"Yet every one who goes over there seems so—so selfish about the woods and rocks, they keep telling us to stay away." Louise said this pleasantly enough, but she did say it, nevertheless.

"Oh, it isn't that," he replied, his tone completely wiping out the possibility of any one being selfish about the island.

"What is it then?" asked Grace bravely.

"Well," he faltered, "you see some of the people over there just think they own the place, and they're queer about strangers."

"Does Kitty feel that way?" pressed Louise.

"Kitty?" he repeated. "Do you know her?"

"Yes, a little. But she never would tell us a thing about Luna Land, except to keep away from it." Grace contributed this effort.

"She's queer but not really dishonest," he said valiantly. "I'm getting to understand her better."

"So are we," and Louise could not suppress a real laugh at the memory of Kitty's various stages of friendship, or at least of her acquaintance.

Louise tried another tack. "Do you get books from the library?"

"Oh, no, I don't have time for library books," replied Bentley. "Wish I had."

"I suppose you know a lot of boys here—are you a scout? We are Girl Scouts you know," volunteered Grace.

"No, to all three questions," he answered. But as usual he did not amplify his brief statement.

"There are Julia and Helen," announced Louise gayly. But the advance of the two other girls seemed a signal for Bentley to leave, and this he did, sliding into the ice-cream parlor before Julia and Helen reached their chums.

"Oh, you missed it," called Louise.

"We have met him," followed Grace.

"Did he invite you over?" asked Julia.

"Can he really talk?" inquired Helen.

"Just the same he is a nice boy," Grace declared.

"We always knew that," Julia told her.

"But, no joking, what did he say?" Helen asked seriously.

"Let me see! What did he say?" Grace was now asking Louise.

"Oh, don't tease. You know what we want to know," pleaded Julia.

"We don't know what you want to know, neither do we know what we want to know, for we couldn't find out," replied Louise promptly.

"Do you mean to say he didn't tell you a thing?" and Helen showed disappointment.

"We wouldn't go so far as that, but he did not tell us anything interesting, if that is what you mean," said Grace. "But do come and sit down, we don't dare follow him inside the store."

"He's gone. I saw him steering his umbrella due north a moment ago," said Louise. "But, girls, really he is the nicest chap."

Then followed a complete review, almost word for word of the conversation held with Bentley Arnold. Yet even this brought the quartette no evident satisfaction.

"If this fog lets up I'm going over there, if I have to pay twenty-five dollars for a sail in the South Park Air Ship. I know it came down with a bad bump the other day, but I'd risk it for a sail to Luna Land," declared Grace.

"Let's go over to Captain Dave's now," said Helen. "He is the most entertaining gentleman I know for this sort of weather."

"We found Bentley all right," qualified Louise. "And think of the name: Bentley Arnold!"

"Did he say anything about his income tax?" asked Helen, but for an answer the jaunt up the fog-laden boardwalk was undertaken, and only those who have ever indulged in real mid-summer fogs, could really appreciate description, and such do not need it—they know!

Captain Dave was glad to see the girls. He lighted the big oil lamp and even offered to burn papers in the stove to "kill the chill," but the girls insisted they would be perfectly comfortable without the heat.

"And Captain Dave, do you know about Kitty?" Grace plunged quickly as politeness would permit.

"Know Kitty? Well, I should, seein' as how I unclasped her from her dead mother's arms," replied the seaman, almost reverently.

"Then, Captain," this very gently from Louise, "why don't you do something for the child? She runs wild as an Indian."

"Do something for her," and he dumped out a pipe full of good tobacco. "Why, what could I do?"

"Does any one take care of her? Has she any friends?" inquired Helen kindly.

"Too many. That's just the trouble," and he filled his pipe with new tobacco. "You know that nobody's business is everybody's business, and that's what's the matter with poor little Kitty."

The girls did not quite understand the description, but the captain seemed troubled, so they hesitated about pressing more pointed questions.

"She is not half as wild as she seems," said Julia after a time. "We had quite a jolly little chat with her one day."

"You did now? That's fine!" he answered heartily. "I wish you could see her once in a while. She needs the right sort of friends. What's a girl to do when every other girl in the village shuns her?"

"We would all be very glad to talk to her and make real friends with her," insisted Helen.

"I'm sure you would, for you're girls brought up to be kind and friendly," said Captain Dave. "I've heard how you befriended old Peter."

"Oh, that wasn't anything," Julia interrupted. "We only took him in from the storm."

"Queer thing none of our firemen happened to see him! And old Pete out there fishin'! Why, he was so stunned, Kitty told me next day he couldn't move," said Captain Dave.

"We thought we would have lots wilder experiences down here than just driving nice old men home, Captain," complained Grace.

"Aren't you ever going to let us try your breeches buoy?"

"Try it? What would you do with a breeches buoy?" he asked.

"Have a lovely ride in it, wouldn't we?" said Grace.

"I hope not," replied the captain seriously. "That's not a thing to play with."

"And Kitty is the little girl you told us about? She whom you took from the wreck of the Alameda?" asked Louise.

"Yes, she is Kitty Schulkill, but they've nicknamed her Kitty Scuttle, 'count of the way she scuttles about so. But I thought when she was taken over to the Point she might quiet down some, but Kitty is Kitty just the same," he concluded rather gloomily.

"Has she any relatives?" inquired Julia.

"Claims to be, one woman there, a high falootin dame, claims to be her guardeen," he said, using the quaint old way of pronouncing the last word. "But I'm not sure. Don't know as I just like her any too—well." And again the pipe suffered from suppressed emotion.

They were making some progress—all the girls felt keenly interested, and even a little bit excited.

"Does this woman live with her at the Point?" ventured Grace.

"Oh, to be sure—she runs the Point, from all I hear," he replied. "But as I told you first thing, that Point is al'lus a pesky place and a good place to veer from."

Confronted again with this thread-bare opposition to a visit at the Point, the girls looked discouraged.

"But you would like us to be friendly with Kitty. How can we become acquainted with her if we are not to—go—to her home?" Grace blurted out finally.

The Captain shook his head. "I'll tell you," he began. "This fancy dressed woman, from what I hear from Kitty, is a queer case, and for a short time it seems best to humor her. Let her try it, I says when Kitty told me—but I wouldn't say positive I like the scheme."

"Is that why you don't want us to go over to the island?" asked Louise. Her voice was gentle and she looked at the old sea captain with an apology in her eyes.

"Now, see here, little girls," he answered; "you have almost thrown old Dave off his course. I don't know enough about the Point to speak of it. I'm tied here, like the 'Boy on the Burnin' Deck,' and when I do leave quarters it is al'lus on government business. So don't take too seriously what I say, except this—keep off Luna Land, and don't pester little Kitty."

And with that admonition they felt obliged to feign content.



CHAPTER XIV

ABOARD THE BLOWELL

"NOW we know what the fog was for," exclaimed Cleo. "To show us how a good clear day can look, that's why a fog is a fog," she stated emphatically.

The day was perfect, and perhaps more conspicuously so by contrast with the long spell of damp just lifted. Activities that had been suppressed were now springing into life, like emotional mushrooms, and the True Treds were markedly busy, trying to fit all the good times into an over-crowded program.

Cleo and Grace were making a week's schedule. This had been altered so often, Grace proposed following Margaret's plan of "fun-by-the-day."

"No matter how carefully we arrange it," she protested to Cleo on the porch of the Log Cabin, "some of the girls insist on crowding in other things. Now, to-day we were to go canoeing, and here comes Julia, telephoning to every one of us to go sailing in a sail boat."

"I think that's lovely of Julia," said Cleo, "because Grazia dear, we can go canoeing any day, but only sailing when some one asks us. Who did?"

"Julia's cousins from Breakentake sailed down the bay early this morning—it must have been a very early start. They are going to stay over, and Julia says if the wind is right, we may all go out for the afternoon. Of course, it's a lovely prospect, but what's the use of making plans? Why not just grab them?"

Grace had ridden over on her bicycle, and the exercise furnished her a wonderful beautifier—had she real need of the process. Eyes shining, cheeks glowing, with almost dewy softness of color, even Cleo, ordinarily indifferent to temperamental changes, commented on her chum's appearance.

"I do believe, Grace," she remarked, "the dampness is good for the complexion. You're as downy as a peach."

"Dampness is a beautifier. Leonore says so. That's what makes Newport so popular. Ever see the hydrangeas grow there? But Cleo dear, you haven't been forgotten in the fog. You are rather peachy yourself."

"Nay, nay, false friend. Tempt me not—I shall not desert the ranks for movies," and Cleo struck one of her popular attitudes. "But about the sailing ship-ahoy! I'm ready. What time do we embark?"

"Julia will call us all up after lunch when she gets a line on the wind. I believe it has to be in 'on high' to get us up the bay. All right," and Grace mounted her wheel. "We will all be ready, and hereafter little Captain, count me out on the program cards. They do better when left to the inspirational, as our own Captain Clark would say."

To be able to learn, to be elastic to the point of flexibility, is surely the secret of all progress, and these girls of True Tred had little need of such a lesson.

The Blowell stood straining at its cable at Round River dock when the scouts, numbering a troop, scampered aboard. Julia's cousins, Mae and Eugenia Westbrook, prided themselves on their nautical skill, and nothing could possibly be more promising for a day's sport than a sail on the Blowell.

"Scouts! Scouts! Rah, rah, rah!"

"True-Treds! True-Treds—Sis-boom ma!"

They shouted the call till every last one had climbed into the "pit" of the graceful sailing vessel, and like a sturdy strong crew they appeared; the scouts in their reliable khaki, and the captain and mate in their shining white duck, with the regulation yachting cap, jauntily but securely set on their capable heads.

From the tips of the mast "Old Glory" floated to the stiff breeze, the ceremony of raising the colors having been complied with according to Girl Scout formality. Cleo, as acting captain, pulled the slender rope, while the girls stood at attention and in salute.

"You may float the boat flag now," said Captain Mae. "Be sure you adjust it right side up."

Grace leaned over the stern to affix the little marine emblem in its place, and soon the sail swung out on its halyard, and when the mate, Eugenia, cut loose from shore, the Blowell lost no time in demonstrating the power of its name.

"Oh, how delightful," gasped Margaret. "And we thought canoeing was fun."

"It's just glorious," exhaled Julia. "Now, aren't you glad I changed our plans?"

"Tickled to pieces," declared Cleo. "I think this is the only worthwhile sort of airship because it combines the beauty of air and water."

They were seated in the trunk cabin watching with deep interest Captain Mae as she set the sail, letting it out gradually as it took the wind, but being careful not to throw too much canvass in the face of the stiff breeze that seemed to sweep from the deep azure sky, as if glad of its own release after the long spell of hateful weather.

Mae was at the tiller guiding the steering gear to fix the vessel in its course, on the smooth, blue waters.

For some time the handling of the craft occupied the visitors' entire attention, but presently they undertook to move around.

"This is where the Blowell beats your Indian Queen canoe, Louise," said Cleo. "You can move here without upsetting."

"But we could really upset in this boat," Louise reminded them. "Although, I am not fearing any such catastrophe."

"Isn't it invigorating," Margaret added to the continuous praise song. "I like the life of this motion, yet it hasn't the least spilly effect."

Thus they enthused until shore points of interest broke in on the marine eulogy.

"Just see us leave Weasle Point behind," remarked Cleo, with a rather prolonged look at the green speck as it drifted away.

"Wonder if Kitty is over there?" said Grace.

"And Bentley," added Julia, not to deprive her chums of their usual joke that she never forgot Bentley.

"And my Uncle Pete," insisted Grace. "Do you know, girls, Captain Dave says he was seriously stunned by that storm?"

"Poor old man! And to think we can't even bring him a thermos of chicken broth," deplored Louise.

The sail boat was gliding over the water, proudly as the clouds themselves drifted overhead. The Westbrook girls were allowing their visitors full scope of the graceful craft, but objected definitely to Grace taking a ride in the little dory that raced behind. Grace thought such a feat would be a genuine lark, but Captain Mae reminded her that the Sandy Hook Bay was not the placid little Glimmer Lake she had been accustomed to sporting upon.

Down in the cabin a real tea was served at four o'clock, and if automobiling is conducive to real appetites, sailing leads to the port of hunger-pangs; and as an alleviative Orange Pekoe, cheese, cookies, lettuce sandwiches, with peanut butter and other conserves, can be heartily recommended, according to the Log of the Blowell, as inscribed that day by the True Treds.

"All hands on the deck," ordered Cleo, in mock severity, when cracker tins and tea cups were being worked to the point of refined cruelty.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Grace, being first to reach deck.

"Shall we sing 'Starboard watch ahoy!' or 'Little Jack'?" Margaret asked.

"No, let's sing 'Sailing!'" suggested Julia.

"Who knows any of the words?" inquired Louise. "The title sounds appropriate, but it would take more words to fill out a tune!"

"Starboard watch ahoy! Starboard watch ahoy! And who can feel-e-e-eel, while on the blue the vessel ke-e-ell." This was Cleo's contribution done in all sharps, and as Louise warned them, the title wouldn't do for a girl-sized song.

"No, that's too old," objected Helen. "It's out of print. Try 'Sailing.'"

"Sailing, sailing over the stormy sea,"

"The second line is just the same and ought to end in B"

"Full many a stormy wind shall blow o-o-oh when"

"Jack comes home—again!"

Thus ended Helen, and as a song "Sailing" was considered a first-rate joke.

"Now," said Margaret, in a plain everyday speaking voice, "I'm not going to spoil my 'Little Jack,' with any such parody as that. I'm going to recite him."

"Hear! Hear!" ordered Captain Mae.

"I'm not sure I can recall all of it, but it's a pretty story—so—"

"Yes, Margy, a story is better than a song, tell it," begged Louise, settling down deeper in the leather cushions.

"But I may have to hum it, to get in rhyme," soliloquized the narrator.

"Yes, that's better still," cut in Cleo. "Give us the hum."

"Do be quiet, girls, or we will get neither song nor hum nor story," said Helen. "Go ahead, Margaret. Tell it your own way, as they say in court trials."

Again Margaret was directed to take up her Little Jack.

"It begins by calling the mates to come around-around-around——"

"The hearth," suggested Julia.

"Hearth on the sea!" cried Margaret in scorn.

"I'll fine the next girl who interrupts," announced Captain Mae. "Go on, Maggie."

"I'll skip the introduction, I have to," Margaret admitted, struggling with a laugh, "but I know these lines:

"It was on the Spanish Main——

"And in a night of rain—then I have to skip again, but you will understand the story," braved Margaret. "The sailors saw something, I just have to insert that clause," she contributed, "then it goes:

* * * * *

"So far from any coast, we thought it was a ghost, And lowers a boat to see what it might be, Where on its mother's breast a little one did rest, The mother dead—the babe alive and well!"

* * * * *

"Oh, just like Kitty's story," interrupted Cleo in spite of orders.

"Certainly, that's the reason I'm suffering so to tell it," admitted Margaret.

"Does the song say what they did with the little one?" asked Julia, always intensely sympathetic.

"Yes, listen," again ordered Margaret. "The story tells:

"Now we're a rough old set, some are fathers, don't forget,"

"But—but I can't think of that line, I should have told you 'Our skipper seized the boy, and kisses him with joy——'"

This was almost the end for Margaret, if not the end of the song, for they all seized the girl and smothered her with kisses.

"But it was a lovely story, Margy, if bald in spots," commented Cleo. "What's the chorus?"

Again Margaret started, this time in tune:

* * * * *

"Singing eylie—heevie ho! Eylie heevie ho! Send the wheel around say we! While gayly blows the breeze, That takes us o'er the seas! Singing eylie, heevie, eylie heevie ho!"

* * * * *

"Hurrah! Hurray! Hurroo!" called Louise. "That's all right for a sea story, Margaret, and we'll have to make a line of it in our Log. But poor little Kitty didn't fare so well. See it was a boy, 'they kissed him with joy,'" she explained. "Being a girl poor Kitty was just dumped."

"Oh, yes, one more line," persisted Margaret:

"Then we names him Little Jack, and kissing he don't lack!"

Needless to say what happened to Margaret at that!

Then, to give the Westbrook girls the full benefit of their information, the story of Kitty was told in detail, and even these young ladies confessed to a keen interest in the mystery of Luna Land.

"We must make a landing, and spend an hour in the woods before returning," suggested Eugenia as they skirted the shore.

"There's a beautiful rocky point, Mae. We can easily sail in the cove, and let the girls scamper around there."

And this was the plan immediately decided upon.



CHAPTER XV

STRANDED

TIME flew as the girls scampered over rocks, slid down sandy slopes, and otherwise "explored" the picturesque retreat.

No accident marred the afternoon, beyond the unexpected slide of Cleo, who, venturing too near the edge, came down to the water's brink by way of a sliding, sandy trail.

Everybody had been in wading, choosing a shallow pool that trickled in from the bay and hid behind a wall of sand, now plainly marked, as the tide was receding.

"Come, girls, we must be moving," warned Mae, "a sail boat depends on wind and tide for safe navigation."

Reluctantly they left the sand, for this strip of rocky woods was attractive to the point of positive fascination.

With a friendly breeze they were soon under full sail again, and the voyage home promised too prompt an ending to their day's sport. They would have prolonged it.

"Couldn't we sail in and out that group of islands?" asked Grace, reluctant to reach port too early.

"We might," agreed Mae, "if we were sure to be safe from sand bars."

"Water's splendidly deep," her sister at the tiller assured her. "We may as well let the girls see all the sights."

Accordingly, the Blowell was directed toward the islands, that seemed like mere splashes of green, spilled on the blue water.

In and out they went in apparent safety, every one enjoying the close land sailing, and the glimpses of varied woodlands these little islands exhibited.

"Tide's going out fast," called Mae, as the sail swung north.

Eugenia did not reply. She thought she felt something scrape.

A grinding sound assured her, she had heard scraping—and she knew the feel of sand.

They stopped like a canoe running out of the waves!

"Sand bar!" shouted Mae, but none of the girls knew just what that meant.

Opening the sail, clear of every reef, Mae tried to get off the bar, and Eugenia urged the tiller to try one spot, then another; but the Blowell stood still, and defied the breeze or water to move her.

"Can't we go?" asked Cleo, just beginning to realize their predicament.

"Not unless we are lifted," replied Mae gloomily.

"Do you mean to tell us we are stuck?" asked Louise.

"That's the simplest way of putting it," replied Eugenia.

"Then," said Grace, still imbued with the spirit of fun. "Where do we go from here?"

"That's a delicate question," replied Helen, for both Mae and Eugenia were too busy to pay heed to nonsense.

For some time they tried all tactics known to navigators caught in a similar predicament, then finally settled down to make the best of a bad bargain.

"Why can't we go in to shore on the little boat?" asked Grace, still anxious to try the dory.

"What good would that do us?" asked Mae.

"Some one may be camped there," Grace added further.

"Even so, a camper couldn't move the Blowell more than we can," said Eugenia.

"Our only hope is a tow," reflected Mae, "and I don't see a launch, and no launch could ever see us in this pocket."

"I'm so sorry I suggested the islands," said Grace contritely. "Of course, I'm a very green sailor."

"Not your fault in the least," Eugenia assured. "We should have known better."

"And when may the tide come in?" asked Julia innocently.

"Some time A. M.," said Mae, hiding her concern with a brave show of indifference.

"Do you mean to say we must stay out here all night?" gasped Helen.

"I hate to say it, but it may be true," said Mae slowly. "Still, a launch may loom up. Any provisions left?"

At this the remains of their lunch were dragged out from the cabin, and as they viewed the most glorious sunset they had ever witnessed, they munched crumbs, and tried to keep up their spirits, which were plainly going down with the ball of red gold.

It was a gloomy prospect. No way of sending a message home, no one to give them a tow, and as Cleo put it just "nobody nor nawthin'."

It was fast coming nightfall! Brave as they were the scouts worried more about the home folks than they did at their own predicament.

"If I could only let mama know!" sighed Julia with a melancholy look at the only things moving, and they were merely sunset clouds.

"Never give up," counselled Mae. "We are in no danger, at least that is something."

"What's that song about the 'dove on the mast'?" asked Cleo moodily. "Something about he did mourn, and mourn and mourn."

"Don't you dare perpetrate that," said Mae. "You are thinking of the famous old sob song, 'Oh, Fair Dove, oh, Fond Dove'. But please forget it. It does not fit in the picture."

"Just the same," insisted Grace, "I think we ought to go in to that island. See how dark it is getting, and there might be some help there."

With an amount of coaxing Grace and Cleo, with Eugenia and Helen, were finally allowed to row into shore, and as the water was perceptibly shallow, it was decided by Mae, as captain, that the little trip could be made in perfect safety.

"I must stay with the Blowell," she said, "as I might feel an under current strong enough to move us. Don't delay too long."

They were glad to leave the sail boat, if only temporarily. It had become monotonous, if not actually gloomy to sit there, longing to move.

A short pull brought the dory on to land, and briskly the girls sprang ashore. Along the edge just a stretch of sand, untraveled, greeted them.

"No footprints here," Grace remarked. "But it's nice and smooth; a lovely little island."

"Yes, if we were merely looking for nature's beauties," replied Eugenia. "But just now we would rather run across a stuttering telephone."

"There is a wireless station somewhere around here," said Cleo. "I remember reading about it being outside of Sandy Hook."

"Do you suppose we are outside of anything?" asked Helen. "I feel we are tied with a drawstring in nature's hip pocket."

"Here's a footprint," called Cleo. "Just look; here's a sign!"

All ran toward her and found tacked on a tree a crudely marked cardboard. On this they managed to decipher the words, "Peter Pan" and "Take me to Mama."

"Perhaps some picnic children left that here," decided Eugenia. "No other sign of mortal habitation about."

"Yes, here is a child's shovel and pail, and a lot of child's play tools," said Helen.

"Relics of the same outing party," commented Louise. "Just see if you can't dig up something more humanly tangible, Helen."

Dusk made the woods almost dark, and lest they should stray too far inland Mae was to give signals on her police whistle. Three short and two long would mean "hurry back." Occasionally they stopped to listen for the call.

"Some child has been digging here very recently," insisted Cleo. "This sand and clay are damp yet."

"The picnic might have been to-day," Louise replied.

"You're not very encouraging Weasie. Just see how deep this hole is, and how it is being dug—like—a tunnel."

Every one followed Cleo's plea for an investigation, and at each turn they seemed to come upon more toys and tools, such as little boys play with.

"And here's another sign," called Helen. "On yellow paper, too."

This brought the scouts to close attention. The sign was evidently an attempt at a message, and carried the same words "Peter Pan" and "Bring me to Mamma," but with it was a pathetically written word "Please," through the letters of which were crudely drawn, by surely a childish hand, the quaintest little flowers.

"Just see!" said Cleo. "No child on a picnic would take time to draw flowers in a sign." She turned over the card and found on the reverse side the words that might mean "I—dig—out——"

Eugenia who was familiar with kindergarten work, readily recognized this as an attempt made by some child who had been taught to make floral words to indicate loving messages. She was turning the paper over carefully when the signal for "Hurry Back" was sounded shrilly on the police whistle.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" called Eugenia, and scampering through the woods, they jumped into their little boat and started off, Cleo still carrying the two Peter Pan messages.

Reaching the clearance they could see a launch pulled up beside the Blowell.

"Oh, joy!" fairly screamed Helen. "A launch!"

It did not take long to row back to the sand bar, where Mae had already been towed off, out into the welcome deep water.

"Oh, how splendid! Just in time!" they shouted, and Eugenia had difficulty in requiring that they sit still and not spill overboard.

Reaching the sailboat, never was found a happier face than Mae's.

"Oh, girls, I told you not to give up," she greeted them. "Just see our rescuer, Mr. Neal Nelson from the Colonade."

"Oh, my little choker's brother!" exclaimed Julia, too delighted to think of the usual formalities.

"And as I live, if it isn't—Bobby's life saver!" declared the young man. "Well, turn about is surely fair play, and I'm glad I got my innings in."

"However did you find us?" asked Julia when they were making sure the Blowell could "sail under her own steam" as Neal put it.

"I didn't—I just happened by. Out trying my new motor boat——"

"She's a beauty," commented Mae, feeling foolish as she uttered the words, for any old tug boat would have been a beauty under the circumstances.

How differently everything looked now! It was almost worth while being in peril to experience the joy of rescue.

"How did you like it over there?" called Neal, who was now keeping close enough alongside the Blowell to permit of conversation.

"Nice little island," answered Cleo. "I guess picnickers like it there."

"I fancy not," replied the young man. "Folks are not invited over there, I understand."

"Why?" questioned Eugenia, who was interested in the kindergarten effort discovered on the island.

"Nobody knows and nobody cares," he replied, using the words of the latest popular song.

"We're going back there some day," declared Grace. "Found signs and things never left there by the Indians."

"Indians live there yet, I should think," replied Neal, turning on some more gas to keep up with the pace the Blowell was making.

"What's the name of that island, do you know?" called Grace.

"Surely," he replied, with a laugh in his boyish voice. "That's the famous Luna Land!"



CHAPTER XVI

THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

"LOOK! Look!" shrieked Grace. "That's Luna Land!"

"Oh, isn't that too stupid!" added Cleo, almost in dismay. "To think we were wandering around there and didn't know it."

"But how were we fooled?" asked Julia, also showing signs of keen disappointment.

"Don't you see we went in on the other side," explained Helen. "That's the pocket and just as I thought we were in the old hip pocket. Isn't that too mean!"

Eugenia and Mae were now made aware of the girls' eager expectations for a trip to that island, and when every one had finally been convinced that the trip had really been made without the least suspicion of its consummation, there seemed nothing to do but demand a good laugh from the odd occurrence.

All stood up to watch the very last speck of green, as Luna Land disappeared, and only the added interest and anxiety, consequent upon their delay, and the need to hasten back to the waiting home folks, tended to break the spell.

"To have actually been on that island!" repeated Grace, trying to realize it.

"And to have gathered signs there," put in Cleo. "Glad I took them along, although I did so unconsciously."

"We must have a troop meeting to-morrow," said Margaret. "This alters everything."

"I think it simply turns on the gasoline," remarked Grace. "Now, we know something about Looney Land."

Neal was leading in his new launch, and the Blowell followed as proudly as if nothing had occurred to spoil her trip. It was almost dark, but not quite, as the long summer evening stayed and over-stayed, to the benefit of the belated sailors.

"There's Leonore and Ben," sang out Grace, as they caught sight of the blue car waiting at the landing.

"Also Gerald and—yes, it's Isabel," called Helen, for from her family car a girl in Isabel's green sweater was waving merrily to the incoming craft.

Explanations with details of delays on a sailboat seemed entirely superfluous, and with creditable good sense the stranded party was welcomed home, without the worry of sighs or sobs.

"But why did you go to the city to-day of all days?" Cleo demanded of Isabel. "We have had the event of the season, and you should have been among those present."

"The dentist," explained Isabel, making room for her chums in the car. "Nothing on earth but a tyrannical dentist could drag me away from Sea Crest in mid season."

"Well, I thought it must have been something urgent," Cleo conceded. "But, Izzy love! We have been to Luna Land!"

"You didn't tell us!" charged Elizabeth. She had been to the city with Isabel.

"We didn't know," returned Cleo. "It was an accident—a miraculous accident."

Followed such snatchy bits of explanation as might be given on the short ride home. Isabel and Elizabeth seemed quite as much absorbed in the fact that their friend Neal had a new motor boat as did they in the revelation concerning Luna Land.

The evening attraction of moonlight bathing served to divert, temporarily, the girls' keen interest in holding a True Tred meeting immediately. Every one wanted to go straight back to the island—no dogs had devoured them, no lunatics were discovered up trees, no ghosts had been noticed ambling about the grove, and why had they even hesitated to explore there? Each demanded an answer from each, but none replied.

Moonlight, like all the other released atmospheric beauties, came "double barreled," and crowds flocked to the beach for the novelty of evening bathing.

"And of course, we're too young," grumbled Isabel. "I just wonder if the water is the same day as night. Come on, let's wade."

This was the signal for wading preparations. In a sheltered corner under the board walk, the girls divested themselves of their shoes and stockings, scampered back to the edge and encountered knee deep waves or wavelets.

"Wading is really decorous in the dark," boomed Elizabeth. "It's lots more fun than even bathing in daylight."

"But not as good as swimming," replied Louise, who had just allowed her pretty pink scarf-sash to come in contact with the ruinous salt water.

At the sound of the nine-thirty gong—it was the village fire alarm that always sounded the hour—the scouts as well as the other merrymakers hurried to dress. True, they had but to don stockings and pumps, but the beach crowds scattered so quickly, it was necessary to hurry, or run the risk of being alone with the crabs.

"Where did you put the things?" Cleo called to Grace. "I don't see them here."

"Left them exactly against the third post from the steps, coming toward the shoe black stand," Grace indicated.

"That would be all right on an income tax blank," sang out Cleo, after a fruitless search, "but it does not betray the boots. They're not here."

"Oh lands, hurry!" begged Elizabeth. "We shall be all alone with Davy Jones or Mr. McGinty or whoever it is who janities the ocean by night. Let's all look."

No need for this proposal for all were looking; they needed pumps and stockings, but none could be found.

"Are you sure you left them here?" asked Louise again.

"Positive," replied Grace.

"And I saw them when I went for my bag," said Elizabeth. "I remember now, I left the pocket flash light burning—forgot to turn it off."

"You left a light in the sand by our things!" exclaimed Cleo. "Brilliant Betty! Well, why wouldn't the small boys walk off with them, either for fun or profit."

"I see nothing to do but play hop scotch home," said Helen dolefully. "And they were my best patent leathers."

"My silk stockings broke the family bank," chimed in Louise. "Mother had just declared they would be the very last pair."

"Let's go to the pier and beg matches," suggested Isabel. "I don't fancy skipping all the way to Third Avenue 'as is,' whatever way that may be, but I believe it applies to any sort of goods not up to the best mark, and with bare feet I don't feel quite par excellence."

"Still you do the Greek dances beautifully," consoled Louise. "Let us take this philosophically. We have lost our booties and we must go home. Now let's——" and she raced off with all the barefoot scouts after her.

Not that they minded that in the least, but the loss of silk stockings and pumps was not a good joke, even to the jolly True Treds.

Danger of broken glass and alighting on sharp pebbles varied the hopping, skipping and jumping, until the last scout dusted her toes and tried to explain the bare-foot stunt to surprised relatives.

Early next morning, that portion of the beach where the clothing had been lost was visited, first by one, and then another, until without arranging to do so, the whole party had again assembled.

"What shall we do about it?" asked Grace. "No use allowing any one to get away with five pairs of pumps and stockings."

"Besides a flash light and my bag," inserted Elizabeth.

"I guess we will have to put a sign on the post office," suggested Cleo.

This was met with a howl of ridicule.

"Can you imagine everybody devouring a neat little sign that stated five pairs of stockings——?" Grace asked.

"Oh, don't," begged Helen. "Let's do without them and wear sneaks. If we all set in to wearing them folks will think they are the very latest thing in footgear," she said pompously.

"Look what I dug up," Cleo exclaimed, displaying a rather disfigured pair of tennis shoes. "Jerry decorated them last summer, when he was trying out some new water colors. See that emblem there?" pointing to something like a wish-bone design. "Well, that's his frat emblem," she told her companions.

"Then it's decided we let the shoes go, and all our poor luck with them," said Isabel. "But I do feel rather mournful about my pretty buckles."

"Let's hie to the bungalow, and talk over our delayed plans to further invade Luna Land," called out Louise, poised on a treacherous sand heap. "I'm just dying for another try at that mystery."

In the conclave it was decided to ask Neal for a ride in his lovely new motor boat.

"That will be the safest way to go," said Louise, "as it would afford the quickest chance of getting away."

"Nothing to be afraid of," Cleo said disdainfully.

"How do we know?" argued Isabel. "Just because no bears jumped out at us is not proof there were none up the trees."

"Bears don't climb the trees," retorted Elizabeth.

"Well, we might have to and it's just the same," insisted Isabel.

"Do you know," said Cleo. "I wouldn't be surprised if some little child over there is playing Peter Pan!"

"That's nothing. Every child plays Peter Pan," cut in Margaret. "Didn't you tell us Mary Dunbar went up a tree at Bellaire?"

"Yes, but I mean a child who is living out the character, if that explains it more clearly," said Cleo.

"Nothing startling about that either," commented Helen, who admitted she was fairly "sizzling" for a mystery.

"Maybe Bentley wrote those signs," said Julia.

"Bentley!" exclaimed Grace. "That big boy wrote 'Take me to mama'! Julia, Julia, Julia! Are you as far gone as that?"

"He could write them for fun, couldn't he?" fired back the much tantalized girl.

"Well, he could, of course, but how would he get the fun out of doing a thing like that? No, we have to look either for a freak or a poor neglected child. Now, True Treds, take your choice!" advised Louise.

"I choose the freak," decided Cleo. "Freaks are funny."

"And I take the chee-i-ld!" trilled Grace, "children need to be cared for, and True Treds should help."

"Whatever will Captain Dave think when he hears we have been on the forbidden ground?" asked Louise. "I care more for his opinion than for anything else."

"Guess we all do," said Margaret seriously. "We wouldn't like him to think we actually defied him."

"But wasn't it the most delicious joke," Grace reminded them. "When I didn't die a sudden death as Neal called out 'Why, that's Luna Land!' I will tell you girls, I am doomed to a ripe old age."

"Suppose we go right down now, and tell Captain Dave all about it?" proposed Louise. "I shall feel better when the dark secret is off my conscience."

"A wise plan," declared Margaret, "but I don't like these slippers for a walk at this hour, too near bathing time. Anybody going in to-day?"

"Surely, but there's plenty of time yet," argued Grace. "All in favor of a trip to Captain Dave's—run."

Along the grassy edge of Glimmer Lake it was only a short run to the life saving station and, just as they hoped, the genial captain sat outside, in his big, strong chair, smoking the faithful pipe.

"You can never guess where we have been, Captain?" Cleo began quickly, as the girls were able to flock about.

"Oh, yes I can," he replied to their surprise. "You been over to the island."

They were astonished. Who had told him in so short a time?

"How did you know?" asked Grace.

"Little bird," mumbled the captain. He did seem a trifle serious for him.

"Not the carrier pigeon?" asked Louise. "And you don't mind, do you Captain Dave?"

"We had no idea of going," Helen hurried to say, before the seaman could answer.

"So you got stranded?" he asked, as usual bringing his helpless pipe into play.

Then followed an account of the accident that ended in the precipitous visit to Luna Land.

"But who told you about it, Captain?" asked Grace once more.

"Kitty," he replied simply.

"Kitty saw us!" Margaret gasped. The surprise intended for Captain Dave had been diverted, it appeared.

"Yes, Kitty was there; but she saw what happened, as she explained it to me, and she knew you wouldn't stay long," explained the old sailor.

"But why didn't she speak to us?" pouted Cleo.

"Guess she thought it was safer to let you get off quietly as you got on," replied the Captain, and his deep set eyes wandered out over that familiar sea, although his audience wondered what ever he could see there to hold his attention after so many years of watching.

"I think she might have trusted us," said Helen, showing something like resentment.

"It likely was not that," the captain assured the girls. "She'd trust you, I'm sure, but she might not trust others," he finished mysteriously.

They seemed further than ever now from their purpose. The captain was rather reticent, though usually so genial, in fact, for the first time the scouts felt as if their visit might not be entirely welcome.

Could he be displeased with them? The language of their glances asked that question plainly.

"But we did have the awfulest time," Louise broke the awkward silence. "Captain, it's lovely to sail, and our Blowell was like a sea queen, until we struck that sand bar, then she stuck like—like the Brooklyn Bridge, not a thing could move her. We did break a couple of oars trying to pry ourselves loose, but a sand bar is a mighty power when you hit it wrong side up," finished Louise, proud of her attempt to interest the rather silent captain.

"Anything wrong, Captain?" Grace asked, with her usual directness. "You look worried."

"Maybe I am a bit," he admitted. "But nothing very serious," and he made his pipe serve to emphasize the fact.

"Could we help you?" inquired Helen simply.

The old sea man smiled and reached over to pat her shoulders. She was sitting on the steps, and he sat just above in the hickory arm chair.

"I've been tryin' to figure out who might help me," he replied finally, "and I've about concluded you little girls would be as safe as anybody. And queer thing, too—" he went on. "You're the first—who ever offered to help old Dave, though many a one he has pulled out of that briny."

The girls moved closer to the hickory chair. Not one felt she could break that spell by speaking.

"But it will be quite a story," continued the captain, "and it is nigh on to eight bells now. Suppose you come around here this afternoon after your swim—no, best after dinner," he corrected himself. "The men have to eat on the stroke of twelve, then we have drill, and some government messages to explain—make it two-thirty," he said finally, "and we'll see what we can do."



CHAPTER XVII

A RELIC FROM THE ALAMEDA

EAGER for the captain's story every scout was on hand promptly at two-thirty. The captain dusted off the wooden settee, and pulled out all his chairs, for the True Treds were meeting as if in council.

"It's about Kitty," he began. "Of course, you have guessed that. But what set me on this course was the way you have made friends with that heedless one. Seems to me you would stick by her in a pinch."

"We surely would, Captain," spoke up Grace, and her voice had in it the ring of the familiar "Aye, aye, sir."

"Well, you see," went on the captain, "she's so queer, no one makes friends with her. But from the furst I was a'watchin' you 'uns, as they say at Old Point, and I was curious to see if she was going to scare you off, as she had done to all the others."

"I guess she tried," Louise could not refrain from interrupting, for the memory of Kitty's throw of the paste board box was still vivid.

"Yes, she tried, and she has told me how she plagued you, but accordin' to Kitty you wouldn't quit."

"Not exactly quitters," ventured Cleo.

From his smile of approval it was plain the captain agreed with every interruption, and they seemed to whet his interest in the story he had undertaken to tell. He continued:

"Just noticin' and watchin' I says to myself, there is the very thing Kitty has always needed; girls, real live, jolly girls; and she ain't never had none."

He expressed himself more pathetically when he fell into the vernacular. "No sir, she ain't never had none," he repeated. "Then along you come, just for the summer, and she tried every blusterin' trick she could make use of to scare you off, to sort of bamboozle you, but you stick, and so, she's sort of givin' in. Especially since you befriended old Pete. That won her sure."

"She told us that she appreciated that," said Cleo. "But it was only fun to drive him to the landing. Of course, he wouldn't hear of us driving around to the Point, from where he could more easily have gone across to the island."

"Now then, thinking all those things over, and puttin' two and two together, as you might say, I've sort of concluded to ask you to do something more. And I almost feel I know your answer," pursued the well-trained narrator.

"You surely must know it, Captain," Cleo assured him. "I am acting captain of this troop—the True Tred. I am really only troop leader for the summer, but the girls call me captain, and I can speak for every one here, I know, when I say, we will do our utmost to help you, or to fulfill any trust you may offer."

At this the True Treds arose, and quite seriously gave their salute. So impressed was old Captain Dave, that he also tilted himself out of his tip chair, and likewise saluted. No one smiled—they were now engaged in serious work as True Treds.

"That's fine," he said heartily. "I tell you my boys can't beat that at drillin'. I just wish I could get a girl's team working some day," he complimented. "Wouldn't wonder if you could do as well as some boys.

"But back to Kitty," and his pipe was thoroughly emptied on the little tin plate at his elbow. "You see, the night her poor little mother was swung in from the Alameda with that youngster in her arms, we were too busy to do much but try to keep the freezin' folks alive. She had talked some to the little girl, and she had asked me to look out for the luggage.

"Well, when Mrs. Schulkill dies on the way to the hospital, and her name appears in the list of those lost, along comes Kitty's relatives, the folks they were comin' to live with. I turned over the luggage and all that sort of stuff we could get off the Alameda before she foundered, but I just made up my mind I'd keep an eye on Kitty. Also, I'd hold on to her papers a bit, 'til these folks really proved they were good friends to the orphan." He shook his head in decision at the memory.

"I've done that," he declared, "and I have the papers. Now, they worry me some. How do I know what'll happen to me? I'm gettin' old, and the seas are pretty rough at times."

He paused, and the girls noticed how gray his face looked, and how haggard and heavily lined.

"This packet of papers was in a tin box," he then explained. "Kitty's mother was comin' home from Holland, and being a widow, she kept all her little belongings with her. I have them in the same little box, and as I have glanced over them I just feel they'll be mighty interestin' when the girl gets sense enough to understand them.

"Now, I've thought of turnin' them over to a lawyer here, but what would that mean? A fee; of course, I have no fee, neither has Kitty. Then, if I trust some one around here, they'll likely go pokin' into them, curious like; and I don't want to do a thing like that to the mother who left her little girl in my arms."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully. The papers were plainly a considerable responsibility to carry. He looked out over the sea again, and shook his head thoughtfully.