“You will—not!” ejaculated the maker of them. “I want some myself. You’ve had ten at least, and if you think it’s any fun making griddle cakes in a frying pan, you just try it yourself.”
“Just give me one,” pleaded Tom, and he got it.
“Say, if we go out in the boat we may miss that teamster who is to bring our stuff,” suggested Jack. “And I’d like to send a letter or two back by him, to be mailed.”
“That’s right—so would I,” agreed Tom. “We’ll wait until he shows up before going out on the hunt.”
So they spent the morning writing letters. The teamster arrived about noon, with some food and supplies for them. He stayed to dinner, and declared it was one of the best he had eaten.
“Folks back in Wilden would have it that the hermit had made away with you,” he said.
“Not yet, though he got our boat, or somebody has,” said Tom.
“Pshaw! That’s too bad. I hope you get it back. Well, I guess I’ll be going. Will you be breaking up camp soon?”
“Not until we solve the mystery of the mill,” declared Tom firmly.