At the moment the boy could not do so, as he had his hands full with the tiller and sheet, and his eyes were engaged as well. When he turned to look again at the Thimble, what had startled Ruth had disappeared.
“There was something white fluttering against the rock. It was down there, either below high-water mark, or just above. I can’t imagine what it was.”
“A seabird, perhaps,” suggested Helen.
“Then where did it go to so suddenly? I did not see it fly away,” Ruth returned.
The catboat sailed slowly past the seaward side of the Thimble. There were fifty places in which a person might hide upon the rock–plenty of broken boulders and cracks in the base of the conical eminence that formed the peculiarly shaped island.
The three watched the rugged shore very sharply as the catboat beat up the wind–the girls especially giving the Thimble their attention. A hundred pair of eyes might have watched them from the island, as far as they knew. But certainly neither Ruth nor Helen saw anything to feed their suspicion.
“What shall we do now?” demanded Tom. “Where do you girls want to go?”
“I don’t care,” Helen said.
“Seen all you want to of that deserted island, Ruthie?”
“Do you mind running back again, Tom?” Ruth asked. “I haven’t any reason for asking it–no good reason, I mean.”