He descended the bank with considerably less caution than he had exerted in the ascent, but with more speed, and he paid for his haste with his skin. But the price didn’t bother him. He didn’t notice it. He regained the flat rock, glanced down and across over the sunlit surface of the brown water, then dived. He swam swiftly, though he kept his left hand clasped tight. When he landed and opened his hand he found the water had scarcely touched the leather case of the little comb. He donned his clothes in about six motions and leaped up the path.
Ben found McAllister and the old Maliseet busy at the little rusty stove, frying bacon and pancakes as if for a prize.
“Hullo, you were up early,” said Uncle Jim. “Did you catch the first worm?”
“I guess I did something like that,” answered Ben breathlessly. “Look at these.”
He stepped over to the table and laid the sliver of silver, the pen and the comb in a row beside one of the tin plates. He turned to old Noel Sabattis.
“Did you ever see these before?” he asked.
“Yep, sure I see ’em afore,” replied Noel. “Where you git ’em dis mornin’, hey? Where you been at, Ben? What else you got?”
“A fountain pen,” said McAllister. “And a slick little comb in a leather case. Where’ve you been shopping so early, Ben?”
Ben paid no attention to his uncle. His eyes were on Noel’s wrinkled face.
“Do they belong to you?” he asked.