They had emerged from a clump of trees and the end of the island was in sight.
Neil Prescott, at the very farthest point, had his back turned. He was leaning over, with a long pole in his hand, apparently gazing at the water. The boys saw an object resembling a cask floating slowly away on the current.
"Sh—sh! Let's see what Pressed Bricks—that's as good a name fur him—is up ter," whispered Sanders.
"Say! This is funny," muttered Tom.
Neil straightened up; then sat down on a rock, with his back still to them.
"I'm a-goin' ter give him the s'prise of his life," grinned Sanders. "Watch!"
He drew forth a potato, and sent it flying toward the sitter, observing, pleasantly, "Keep still, an' listen fur the plunk."
The tuber was small and round, and the curve Sanders gave it was perfect. Neil Prescott received it directly in the middle of the back, and proceeded to arise much more quickly than he had sat down.
Sanders let out a tremendous yell, waved his arms in the air, and the trio walked forward.
For an instant, the "hermit" seemed greatly nonplussed. Then, recognizing the boys, he quietly resumed his seat.