"You're some—tomboy!" exclaimed Phil, admiringly, Jerry thought, but the girl only laughed sarcastically.
"You first," she demanded. "You're just watching for a chance to catch me off my guard. I'm onto you."
Phil had no choice, so without more ado, he plunged in and began cutting the water neatly in the direction of the camp fire.
"He swims well, doesn't he?" remarked the girl, so easily that Jerry could have sworn she was about ready to laugh.
"He sure does!" he agreed. "He's got me beat a mile. Say," he coaxed, "we didn't mean any harm. We were just looking for a boy who was supposed to have got drowned up the river a piece but we believe landed here on Lost Island. Just tell me whether he's alive or not, and we won't bother you any more."
"Oh, you're no bother. In fact, I rather enjoyed your little visit—though I will admit you scared me a bit when you held the knob of the door to the hangar——"
"Hangar? What's that?"
"It's—it's French for—woodshed," the girl stammered. "It's your turn now," motioning toward the water.
"But won't you tell me about Tod?"
"Did you ask my father about him?"