"Ha!" exclaimed the strange girl, suddenly looking at Ruth more intently. "Are you called Ruth?"
"Yes. Ruth Fielding is my name."
"Oh!" and the girl's face changed in its expression and a little flush came into her cheeks. "I've—I've heard of you."
"Indeed! How?" cried Ruth, eagerly. She felt that this girl must really have some connection with Maggie at the mill, she looked so much like the waif.
"Oh," said the other girl slowly, looking away, "I heard you wrote picture plays. I saw one of them. That's all."
Ruth was silent for a moment. Helen kept tugging at her arm and urging her to go.
"We—we can do nothing for you?" queried the girl of the Red Mill at last.
"You can get off the island—that's as much as I care," said the strange girl, with a harsh laugh. "You're only intruding where you're not wanted."
"Well, I do declare!" burst out Helen again. "She is the most impolite thing. Do come away, Ruthie."
"We really came with the best intentions," Ruth added, as she turned away with her chum. "It—it doesn't look right for a girl to be alone at a campfire on this island—and at night, too."