“Not a trace of them.”
“What do you suppose has become of them?” demanded John, who was beginning to be seriously troubled by the failure of his friends to appear.
“I cannot say,” replied Mr. Button. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s what we should like to know ourselves,” replied Fred ruefully. “We can’t get into the house and we haven’t any boat so it looks very much as if we would have to stay here on the shore all night.”
“Can’t you get into the house?” inquired Mr. Button.
“No, sir. We have been up there two or three times. The doors are locked and no one pays any attention to us when we rap. Besides they have got a dog there and he’s a savage brute. He got John by the trousers and wouldn’t let go until I hit him on the back with a stick of wood.”
“Was it John or the dog you hit?” inquired Mr. Button dryly.
“The dog, of course. What are we going to do now, Mr. Button?”
“I think I can get you over to the shore of Drummond Island, but I should like very much to have you wait a little while before we start.”
“All right,” replied both boys together.