“But how did he get there?” cried Adoniram wonderingly.
“This young man ought to be able to tell that,” suggested Mr. Coffin, referring to the dripping youth.
Caleb looked from the open letter to the boy.
“So you’re Swivel, eh?” he demanded.
The lad grinned and nodded.
“Well, suppose you explain this mystery.”
But here Adoniram interposed.
“Let us take him to the cabin, and give him something dry to put on. He’ll catch his death of cold here.”
“’Nough said. Come on,” said Caleb leading the way.
Fifteen minutes later the youth who rejoiced in the name of Swivel was inside of warm and dry garments, several sizes too large for him, and was telling his story to a most appreciative audience.