“I—I fancy not,” answered Tom, still staring at the card. “I wonder how that got here?” he mused. “And I wonder who lives in this shack?” and putting the bit of pasteboard in his pocket, he swung around.
“I guess we’d better be getting back,” he said to Ruth. “It’s getting late, and it’s a bit of a pull. I’m sorry we couldn’t find your brooch.”
“So am I,” she admitted, with a sigh. “But it can’t be helped. Oh, how can I tell grandmother?”
She took Tom’s arm, as the way was rough. They had not gone many feet before they heard someone approaching, tramping through the underbrush.
“Who can that be?” asked the girl.
“I don’t know—we’ll look,” whispered Tom.
[CHAPTER X]
THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF
“Who are you—what you do here?”