She fitted her spring-heeled tan shoes into the prints, and proved at once that they were not hers. Nor did King's shoes fit exactly, though they came nearer to it than Marjorie's.
"Yes, sir; some fellows came along and stole that wood. Here are two or three quite different prints."
"Well, where do they lead to?" said practical Marjorie.
"That's so. Let's trace them and get the wood back."
But after leading away from them for a short distance the footprints became fainter, and in a softer bit of sand disappeared altogether.
"Pshaw!" said King. "I don't so much care about the wood, but I hate to lose the trail like this. Let's hunt, Mopsy."
"All right, but first, let's bury these apples and potatoes, or they'll be stolen, too."
"Good idea!" And they buried their treasures in the nice, clean sand, and marked the place with an inconspicuous stick.
Then they set out to hunt their lost wood. The beach, though flat and shelving at the water's edge, rose in a low bluff farther back, and this offered among its irregular projections many good hiding-places for their quarry.
And, sure enough, after some searching, they came suddenly upon three boys who sat, shaking with laughter, upon a pile of wood.