"It never is," sighed Henrietta, sentimentally. "Every time there's a storm, the sea brings in millions of cobblestones and only one agate. I love to hunt for agates."
"If they came in like cobblestones," said practical Mabel, "you wouldn't have the fun of hunting—— Why! There's something coming down the road. See! That way—toward Lakeville."
"A man on horseback!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Let's hide——"
"What for?" demanded Mabel, bravely.
"His clothes!" breathed Henrietta, in an agonized whisper, as she dragged Mabel backward. "Can't you see? It's the game warden—I know him by his leggings. Just like that picture. Hurry, Mabel—he's after Dave!"
"Oh! do you think so?" gasped Mabel, paralyzed with horror. "And all that venison hanging near Dave's wigwam! And all those partridge feathers on Mr. Black's land! They might arrest him, too! And us! Oh, Henrietta! What'll we do?"
"Run," urged Henrietta, tugging at Mabel's dress.
"But—but I can't!" gasped Mabel, helplessly. "And, anyway, it's too late—he's looking right this way. But, oh! We mustn't let him go anywhere near Pete's Patch."
"Sh!" breathed Henrietta, warningly; but with a quick, decisive nod that seemed vaguely reassuring. "Stop looking scared."
The rider, having cautiously and more or less successfully skirted a bad bit of swamp, caught sight of the girls and checked his travel-stained horse.