“Oh!” Bee gave a quick, startled gasp. “I wonder——”
“What is it, Beatrice? Tell me instantly,” commanded Miss Carroll.
“Why—nothing—only——” Bee hesitated. “Yesterday when we were down here,” she continued, “I saw a—a young girl standing back in a thicket watching us. She might be the one——”
“She might indeed,” grimly concurred Miss Martha. “I haven’t the least doubt but that she appropriated it. I have been told that the negroes down here are a thieving lot. Strange she didn’t take my parasol.”
“But this girl I saw was as white as Patsy or I,” protested Bee. “She was so pretty. I don’t believe——”
“I would far rather lay the loss of my book to her than to some prowling tramp,” retorted Miss Martha.
“A person who would take an ordinary cloth-bound book and not an expensive white silk parasol can’t be a very desperate character,” surmised Patsy gaily. “I guess there’s really nothing to worry about. Perhaps this wood nymph of Bee’s is fond of reading.”
“I am not inclined to pass over the incident so lightly,” disagreed her aunt. “I shall insist on Robert’s finding out who this girl is and all about her.”
Some further discussion of the affair ensued during which Miss Carroll again repeated her stern injunction: “You must never come down here to bathe unless either my brother or I are with you. It strikes me that this community is entirely too full of thieves and lunatics for comfort.”