“The ha’nt,” said Liz, simply.
“Oh, dear me, Lizzie!” said Laura, in some disgust. “Don’t keep that up.”
“Well, then! If it wasn’t his ha’nt, it was himself. Guess I know him,” declared the girl-of-all-work.
“Tell me about it, please?” said Jess’ mother, “You girls run and get your baths and we’ll get breakfast.”
“I—I don’t want to leave the tent if there are thieves about,” complained Lil, to whom the water looked just as cold on this morning as it had the day before. “I—I’ve got some jewelry in my bag.”
“Very foolish,” said Bobby, bluntly. “We told you not to bring anything to camp that you cared about.”
“Gently! gently!” said Laura, the peacemaker, “Come on, Lil. Don’t be afraid of either the kleptomaniantic thief, as Bobby calls him, or the cold water—neither will hurt you, I guess.”
They had their plunge and that—or something else—stirred Mother Wit’s “thinking machine.” She said, as they trooped up to dress:
“We’ll wig-wag the boys and bring them over. They will help us search the island. Besides, we shall need one of the powerboats to go for more food. It seems funny that a man who was willing 120 to pay for what he took—and pay so well—did not go down to Elberon Crossing and buy at the store just what he took from us.”
“He’s an outlaw—a murderer, maybe, fleeing for his life,” suggested Lil, tremblingly.