"The tramps," Rose answered. "See, there are the ragged men down there. They're having a picnic, like us, I guess."
Russ looked and saw a group of the sort of men he had always called tramps. They were ragged and dirty, and were seated about a fire over which hung a steaming kettle.
"They're cooking just like gypsies," said Russ. "Maybe they are gypsies, Rose."
"No, they're tramps," went on the little girl. "And I guess they are the same ones that took Captain Ben's rowboat and the other things off the dock. And maybe they're the same ones that took Mrs. Brown's jewelry."
"Oh, maybe they are!" exclaimed Russ. "What'll we do?"
"Let's go and tell daddy and mother and Captain Ben," answered Rose. "They'll know what to do."
Russ and Rose turned back on the woodland path. The ragged tramps did not appear to have seen or heard the children, and a little later the oldest of the six little Bunkers were excitedly telling the others on the island beach what they had seen.
"Tramps, eh?" exclaimed Captain Ben. "Well, now I have a chance to catch them. They can't get away from me now, as the island is too small. Can you show me where they are, Russ and Rose? Then you can come back while your father and I round them up."
"Oh, can't I help catch 'em?" pleaded Russ.
"No, indeed!" his father exclaimed, as he and Captain Ben got ready to go to where the ragged men were cooking some sort of meal in the woods.