“It’s pretty dark,” said George as ax in hand he started for the clump of trees in the rear of the tent. It was growing dark as George had said and it was becoming more and more difficult to pick out the narrow trail. He had advanced but a short distance when a little animal ran out into the path and trotted along ahead of him.
“Why, look at the cat,” exclaimed George half out loud. “I wonder how it got on the island here.”
As he spoke the little black and white animal left the path and entered a clump of bushes on one side. George had always been extremely fond of pets of all sort and he followed eagerly.
“Here puss, puss, puss,” he called. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
There was no response and he called again. He used his most enticing manner and did his best to coax the little animal out again.
“Wouldn’t they be surprised back at camp,” he thought, “if I should bring in a cat? It would make a fine mascot for us too.”
He bent over the bushes where the cat had disappeared and called again; no response came, however. He bent the twigs aside and stepped in, looking carefully all about him as he went forward. Suddenly he uttered a cry of surprise and started back. He thought he was choking, and springing back into the narrow pathway he turned and ran for the tent as fast as his legs would carry him.