“Did you go?” asked Phil.
“Certainly,” said his sister. “And we had a fine dance at the Point. All but poor Natalie—she couldn’t on account of her ankle, and I just know that Harry Morton got up the whole thing on her account.”
“He did not!” protested the blushing Natalie, while Blake looked at her sharply.
“Then, on our way back, we stopped at your camp again,” went on the Guardian, “and you weren’t there. Naturally we were worried. Now—where were you?”
“Oh, just off on a sleuthing expedition,” said Jack airily. “Say, don’t you want to invite us to breakfast?”
“We will if you tell us where you were,” challenged Mabel.
“I think I can guess,” said Natalie.
“Where?”
“In the old mill.”
“How did you—er—guess?” asked Blake.