Just then Marjory flung herself breathlessly over the edge of the bank with Mr. Black, also short of breath, close at her heels.
"What's it all about?" demanded Mr. Black. "Has Mabel fallen in again?"
"Get the bread-knife, somebody," ordered Mabel, now sufficiently recovered to scramble to her feet, "and follow me."
"I have a knife," said Mr. Black, displaying as bloodthirsty a bit of cutlery as one would want to see. "Saunders thought I might need a hunting knife. If you've caught a deer I'll skin him for you."
"I guess," laughed Bettie, "she doesn't want her game skinned. She's found a boy."
Presently the procession, headed proudly by Mabel, who now felt very important indeed and would allow none of her impatient followers to pass her, was marching up the beach. She was, however, too breathless for speed.
"Couldn't you go a little faster?" pleaded Marjory.
"No, I couldn't," panted Mabel. "And, if you run ahead of me, you won't know where to turn off—so there."
"Tell us more about it," begged Henrietta. "I've always been crazy to rescue a shipwrecked crew!"
"No," said Mabel, "I want my breath to walk with."