“Mrs. Trafton, we have just been over to Egg Island,” said the fisherman.
“And didn’t you find him?”
“No; he was not there.”
“But how could he get off?”
“He was seen this afternoon making a raft from the old timbers he found in the wreck. He must have put to sea on it.”
“Then why is he not here?”
“The sea was rough, and——”
Mrs. Trafton, who had been standing, sank into a chair with a startled look.
“You don’t think my boy is lost?”
“I hate to think so, Mrs. Trafton, but it may be.”