"Pine Island?" cried Mrs. Irving, the color flaming into her cheeks, whether from excitement or the warmth of the fire, no one could tell.
"What can be strange about Pine Island?" demanded Betty. "Mollie, I could shake you; why don't you tell us and have it over with?"
Mollie glanced at Roy. "Shall I?" she asked, just as if she had not been longing for the last half hour for the time to come when she could create a sensation by telling.
"You might as well," he answered condescendingly. "As long as we have to have them around for the rest of the summer, we might as well let them in on it."
"Well of all the——" Grace was beginning, when Betty nudged her sharply.
"Don't interrupt, Grace, whatever you do," she whispered. "They take long enough getting to the point anyway."
Grace saw the wisdom in this, and stopped short.
"Well," began Mollie, speaking slowly and with aggravating distinctness, "you see, in the old days, this island used to be a rendezvous for all the wandering gypsies for miles around."
"What?" Frank cried.
"Well, I am only telling you what the old man said," asserted Mollie defensively and with warmth. "I don't say he may not be mistaken——"