“I’ve heard one did take that old place, but he’s a stranger around here, isn’t he?”
“The ladies seem to know him. They’ve bought fish from him and say he’s very reliable,” Barbara answered. “But I must hurry. Father will be here for me soon. Where will we hide the little galleon?”
“I’ve been looking around——”
“Here!” she exclaimed. “There’s a little cubby-hole built in the bricks back of this Dutch oven. It ought to be safe there.”
“Yes. That’s fine. You put it in. It will surely be safe there,” agreed Miss Davis, only too gladly.
Barbara picked the model up carefully and carried it over to the hearth. Then she turned on the little electric candle light that spread a soft glow over the dark bricks, opened the door of the closet and still more carefully set the war-time trophy within. Neither she nor Miss Davis spoke while all this was going on, for somehow she felt the importance of secrecy.
Then, just as Barbara turned to switch off the light, they both heard a noise.
“Some one at the window!” gasped Miss Davis.
“Yes, I heard some one,” admitted Barbara, “and it couldn’t have been Dad.”
But Miss Davis was at the door before Barbara had finished.