“Oh, it would be nice, of course,” she admitted, as they strolled along. “There’s the Tyler place,” called Ruth a little later. “I recognize the description. Isn’t it lovely?”
“Fine!” agreed Tom. “And that looks like a good camping place,” and he indicated a spot not far off.
They soon gave up looking for the lost brooch, which, as Ruth said, was like searching for a needle in a haystack. They strolled some distance on the island, admiring the Summer cottages that would soon be open, and then turned back.
Not far from the spot where Tom and his chums had found the rifled jewelry box Tom saw a sort of shack, or small hut, off between the trees.
“I wonder whose that is?” he ventured. “Let’s go take a look.”
“It doesn’t seem very inviting,” returned Ruth. “Perhaps some boatmen live there.”
The shack was deserted, but a look through the grimy windows showed that it probably had an occupant, for there were some dishes on a table, some pans on a rusty stove, and, in through another room, could be seen some bunks.
“Probably a caretaker for the cottages,” suggested Ruth, as she rested her hand on a window-sill, and idly pulled out some threads that had caught in a splinter. “Rather a strange sort of caretaker,” she went on, “who wears silk—see, these are silk threads,” and she held up a number, brightly colored.
“Where did you get those?” asked Tom, and the girl started at the strange note in his voice.