“It does not matter how much they said or how little. The fat is all in the fire, I guess,” groaned Ruth.
“Chirk up! Something is sure to turn up, I suppose. We won’t be left here to starve,” and Helen’s eyes flashed her fun.
“Oh, you!” began Ruth, half laughing too. Then she stopped and held up her hand. “What’s that?” she whispered.
The sound was repeated. A long-drawn “co-ee! co-ee!” which drained away into the depths of the forest-covered islands all about them. They were not where they could see a single isle known to be inhabited.
“Who is calling us?” demanded Helen.
“Hush!” commanded Ruth. “That is not for us. I have heard it before. It comes from the King of the Pipes’ island—to be sure it does.”
“He’s calling for help!” gasped Helen.
“He is doing nothing of the kind. It is a signal.” Ruth told Helen swiftly more of that early morning incident she and Chess Copley had observed when they saw the boxes carried ashore from the motor-boat.
“Seems to me,” grumbled Helen, “you have a lot of adventures with ’Lasses Copley, Ruth.”
“Your own fault that you don’t,” returned her chum promptly. “You could have been along. But you don’t like Mr. Copley.”