“Oh, pshaw!” muttered Agnes. “You just sound silly.”
“I’m not as silly as a girl of your age must be not even to imagine what kind of eggs those were,” chuckled Neale.
“I knew there was a trick in it!”
“Shush!” he warned her again. “If you don’t mind frightening my flock, don’t wake up everybody else in the camp.”
She was silent when they came to the edge of the palm grove. It was already growing light over the sea, and the mass of fog that had covered everything during the night was lifting and rolling back upon itself. Something moved on the sand not twenty feet from where the girl and boy stood.
“Oh! What is that?” queried Agnes.
“Hear ’em?” said Neale. “That shuffling sound? I bet there are a hundred of ’em on this shore.”
“Neale O’Neil! What does it mean?” gasped the girl, in wonder.
“It means that we are on one of the Tortugas. We must be. And this desert strand is populous at night, sure enough.”
“Turtles!” shrieked Agnes.