The Hardy boys got into their ice-boat and started off, leaving their two chums hopefully searching for the lost supplies.
The wind was favorable, and the Hardy boys reached the little village down on the mainland in a short time. It was a summer resort, and at this season of the year most of the houses were closed and boarded up, but a few permanent residents stayed on the year round, among them being the general storekeeper. His name, as it appeared from a weatherbeaten sign hanging above the store, was Amos Grice.
The boys left their boat by a little wharf which was almost covered with snow and made their way toward the store.
An elderly man with chin whiskers peered at them through his glasses as they entered. He was sitting behind the stove, reading a newspaper and munching at an apple, and he was evidently surprised to see any customers so early in the morning, particularly strangers.
“How do, boys! Where you from?” he asked.
“We’re camping on an island farther up the bay,” Frank explained. “We came here in our ice-boat.”
“Camping, hey? Well, it ain’t many that camps in the winter time. As fer me, I think I’d rather set behind the stove when the colder weather comes on. It’s more comfortable. What can I do for you?”
“Some one raided our cabin last night and stole all our food. We want to get some more supplies.”
“Stole all your food!” exclaimed Amos Grice, clucking sympathetically. “Well, now, that’s too bad. Fust time I ever heard of any thievin’ in these parts. Was it a tramp, do you think?”
“We don’t know who it was, but we have an idea. I don’t think it was a tramp. Just somebody trying to do us a bad turn.”