“Here!”
It was his voice right enough but she could not see him.
“Where are you?”
A twig fell at her feet and she looked up. Bruce was perched in the topmost branches of a sturdy tree. He had a vividly colored Indian blanket in his hand.
“What on earth——” Gale began in amazement.
“Going to be a hermit,” he laughed.
“What’s the idea?”
“People on the mainland,” he answered. “They are looking at something—I believe it is our motor boat—must be a wreck. I’ve been waving the blanket so they can see it and come and rescue us. I want my breakfast.”
Once more Bruce waved his gayly-colored flag, so furiously he nearly toppled from his perch.
“Do they see it?” Gale inquired anxiously.