“But the old wood-hauling boat and the silks in her hold, (they were all sure the bolts of cloth were silk by this time) and the dory from her that passed us in the night,” said Betty. “They’re different.”
“And the face I saw in the fire,” said Ruth with a shudder. “Such a strange face it was, dark and hairy and eyes that gleamed sort of red and black. Oh! I tell you it was terrible! I am glad we’re all here!”
“You—you wouldn’t go back,” said Pearl. “Not for worlds.”
“Yes,” Ruth said slowly, “I think I would, but in the daytime. Daytime would be different. And someone should go. If that grand old fort is being used by rascals they should be found out.”
“And there’s been so many whispers about smugglers this summer,” said Pearl. “Smuggling in goods and men, they say. All sorts of men that shouldn’t be allowed to come to America at all.”
“That’s it!” said Pearl excitedly. “That’s what he was! One of them, one of the men America don’t want.”
“Who?”
“That man, the face in the fire!”
“You can’t be sure,” said Betty.
“No,” said Ruth, “not until we go back there. Then perhaps we won’t.”