“And the pen?” murmured Tom, seeing the catastrophe now as she did. “Why, Ruthie! Could somebody have taken them all?”
“Somebody must!”
“But who?” demanded the young fellow. “You have no enemies.”
“Not here, I hope,” she sighed. “I left them all behind.”
He chuckled, although he was by no means unappreciative of the seriousness of her loss. “Surely that German aviator who dropped the bomb on you hasn’t followed you here.”
“Don’t talk foolishly, Tom!” exclaimed the girl, getting back some of her usual good sense. “Of course, I have no enemy. But a thief is every honest person’s enemy.”
“Granted. But where is the thief around the Red Mill?”
“I do not know.”
“Can it be possible that your uncle or Ben saw the things here and rescued them just before the storm burst?”
“We will ask,” she said, with a sigh. “But I can imagine no reason for either Uncle Jabez or Ben to come down here to the shore of the river. Oh, Tom! it is letting up.”