“And,” said Agnes, gravely, but with dancing eyes, “if we accept the one as bona fide, then we must believe this one, too. This turtle is nearly two thousand years old.”
“O-oo!” gasped Tess.
“‘Julius Cæsar’ is the name of Bill Monnegan, the coal man’s, horse,” declared Dot. “And that horse never could have cut those letters into that turtle. So I guess it is maybe a joke, isn’t it?”
“It must be a joke,” laughed Ruth. Then, quite seriously, she added: “But think! Maybe this island isn’t always deserted. Perhaps other people have been here and will come again.”
“These turtles travel many hundreds of miles, Ruth,” Neale said quietly. “This discovery, I guess, offers no particular hope that we shall have visitors. But, of course, we’ll get that old engine to working before long.”
CHAPTER XVII—LOOKING FOR ADVENTURE
Imagine becoming bored on a desert island in the tropics! But that is exactly what happened in the case of Dot Kenway. Nor was Tess in much finer fettle on the fourth morning of their sojourn on Palm Island.
“I wish we had Tom Jonah here. Or even Billy Bumps,” said Tess to her smaller sister. “There isn’t really much to play with on this place but turtles. And they only lie on their backs and wave their paws at you.”
“It is too bad we didn’t bring that rabbit along that Sammy Pinkney gave us for Christmas,” said Dot, quite as ruefully.
“That old Belgian hare!”