"Hoorah!" shouted Will. "Three cheers for the good old bird!"
As he spoke the little steamer scraped against the dock that was almost
invisible to those on deck, then came to a full stop. The shrill whistle
which Roy contemptuously characterized as a joke, broke the misty
stillness with a shriek, that echoed and re-echoed, thrown back upon
itself by some distant cave or hillside on the island.
"Goodness! I wouldn't mind a nice fire myself," said Mollie, shivering
with something a little more than cold. There was something mysterious
about this island, shrouded as it was in the clinging mist--something
that made the girls draw close together for companionship. "I hope it
will be more cheerful in the daytime--the island, I mean, not the fire,"
she added.
"Girls," cried Betty, "this looks like a regular adventure island. Maybe
we'll find the gypsies here."
"Oh, don't," shivered Amy. "Don't talk about gypsies--until daylight, at
least."
"Here comes the rain!" Roy shouted. "We'll have to hurry some, if we
want to beat it to the house. Here, Will, take hold of this bag. Quick,
I can't carry more than three at a time.
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