"One—two—three!"
"LINDA AND DOT!"
Their voices rose clearly over the splashing of the waves, and they waited tensely.
But there was no reply!
They waited, and tried again.... Still silence.... Louise put out her hand, and grasped her husband's, in fear.
"What does it mean?" she cried, in anguish. "Is this surely the right island? There seemed to be a lot of them."
"Maybe it isn't" he answered, optimistically. "That girl seemed to be telling the truth—but she was a queer one. Besides, she might not be sure which island it was.... Anyway, we'll search. If Linda and Dot were here, we'll see some evidences of their camp—burnt out fires, or worn paths, or something. Come on, let's start!"
Arm in arm they began their search, stepping carefully through the underbrush, now and then stopping to call, "Linda" or "Dot," in the hope that the girls might only have been asleep. They did not have to go far before they saw that at least someone had been here recently, for there was a path worn through the underbrush.
Farther and farther in they went, until they came to a small cluster of pine trees. And here, sure enough, they found the remains, or rather the ashes, for the place had been left neat, of a camp fire.
The sight of this forsaken spot brought sudden tears to Louise's eyes.