So this month of camping, hunting and fishing was but a preparatory one to fit them the more perfectly for the more important adventure.
When they reached the mysterious swimmer they were surprised to find him a mere boy, some fourteen years of age.
"What a strange face!" whispered Marian, when they had assisted the dripping stranger into the boat.
They studied him for a moment in silence. His hair and eyes were black, his face brown. He wore a single garment, cleverly pieced together till it seemed one skin, but made of many bird skins, eiderduck, perhaps. This garment left his arms and legs free for swimming.
He said nothing, simply stared at them as if in bewilderment.
"We must get him ashore at once," said Lucile. "He must have swum a long way."
Fifteen minutes later, after tying up the boat, Lucile came upon Marian picking the feathers from a duck they had shot that morning.
"Goin' to make him some broth," she explained, tossing a handful of feathers to the wind. "Must be pretty weak."
Lucile stole a glance at the stranger's face.
"Do you think he's oriental?" she whispered.