Milly wrinkled her nose, as she did when she felt scornful. “I suppose that pleasant old man has sent you an invitation. ‘Dear Mr. Thomas Hallett, I should be so delighted if you’d drop in on me.’” And Milly tilted the straw hat on her hand so as to judge the effect of the ribbon around the brim.
Tom walked across to the fireplace, where he stood with his back to the hearth, as his father often did when he had an announcement to make. “Mr. Christopher Cotterell is dead,” he said. “I received my invitation from his nephew, Mr. John Tuckerman.”
Milly turned around, surprised. “What are you springing on us? Where did you meet this man?”
“Down at the gate to-night,” said Tom calmly. “He wanted a likely young fellow to help him explore the house and the island he’s inherited, and naturally he came to me.”
“Yes, what Tom says is quite true,” declared Mr. Hallett. “Mr. Tuckerman is the new owner. So he asked you to help him, did he?”
“He called himself a landlubber. I’ve an idea too that he doesn’t want to stay on the island alone. I’m to get Ben and David, and we’re to sail his boat for him and fish and cook and keep him company.”
“Humph!” sniffed Milly. “That doesn’t sound very exciting. You’re to do the work while he loafs around.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. He hinted that we might find something very interesting. He called it an adventure. And he let slip something about a mystery.”
Milly put the hat down. She herself was very fond of camping and sailing and swimming, and although she pretended to be quite grown up she still yearned at times for her old tomboy ways. “I suppose he isn’t going to be like Old Crusty—I mean Mr. Christopher Cotterell? He won’t mind people coming out to see that queer old house.”
“That’s just what he does mind,” said Tom. “He wants to keep the whole thing dark, for the present, at least. Why, if he didn’t, all Barmouth would be going out there. Most of them never got nearer the place than to read the signs; and they’d all be crazy to go.”