But, after a moment, she was not at all mute upon the subject of the King of the Pipes and what might be going on on the island where they believed the queer old man had his headquarters.
“If it should be smugglers over there—only fancy!” sighed Helen ecstatically. “Diamonds and silks and lots of precious things! My, oh, my!”
“Better than pirates?” laughed Ruth.
“Consider!” cried her chum boldly. “I said that island looked like a pirate’s den from the start.”
“Your fore-sight-hind-sight is wonderful,” declared Ruth, shaking her head and making big eyes at her friend.
“Don’t laugh—Oh! What’s that?”
From over the water, and unmistakably from the rocky island on the summit of which the blasted beech stood—a prominent landmark—came the strange cry, “co-ee! co-ee!” which they had heard before.
“Do you suppose that poor old man is calling for help?” hesitated Ruth.
“Your grandmother’s aunt!” ejaculated Helen, in disgust.
“We-ell that is even a more roundabout relationship than that between Aunt Alvirah Boggs and me. Poor old soul, she is nobody’s relation, as she often says, but everybody’s aunt.”