As he spoke the little steamer scraped against the dock that was almost invisible to those on deck, then came to a full stop. The shrill whistle which Roy contemptuously characterized as a joke, broke the misty stillness with a shriek, that echoed and re-echoed, thrown back upon itself by some distant cave or hillside on the island.
"Goodness! I wouldn't mind a nice fire myself," said Mollie, shivering with something a little more than cold. There was something mysterious about this island, shrouded as it was in the clinging mist—something that made the girls draw close together for companionship. "I hope it will be more cheerful in the daytime—the island, I mean, not the fire," she added.
"Girls," cried Betty, "this looks like a regular adventure island. Maybe we'll find the gypsies here."
"Oh, don't," shivered Amy. "Don't talk about gypsies—until daylight, at least."
"Here comes the rain!" Roy shouted. "We'll have to hurry some, if we want to beat it to the house. Here, Will, take hold of this bag. Quick, I can't carry more than three at a time."
"Give it to Allen," Will advised, as they tumbled out on the tiny wharf. "I have more than my share already."
"Oh, all right," said Allen, "I'll be the goat. How about it, Betty—shall we give them another race? It looks as if a little speed would come in handy."
"No, let Mollie lead this time. I hope she knows the way."
"Of course I do," said Mollie, coming up behind them. "There isn't any way to find. The house is at the end of the wharf. Follow us and——"
"You'll get something to eat," Roy finished for her. "We have the basket."