“Well, that’s just where we left it,” laughed Chub. “And Harry’s Island is in the same place, too, strange as it may seem. And the river still flows to the south, and—”
“Oh, yes,” said Roy. “But I don’t think much of the welcome they’ve provided, do you?”
“I do not,” answered Chub, with emphasis. “I expected at least a brass band and a collation.”
“Bother the brass band,” said Dick, appearing from the engine-room wiping his oil-stained hands on a piece of waste. “But a collation has a cheerful sound.”
“I thought surely that Harry would be here,” said Roy, with a trace of disappointment. “I wonder if she’s back.” He looked up the path.
“Maybe she didn’t get that letter,” suggested Dick. “If she didn’t she wouldn’t know when to look for us. And here we have invited ourselves to luncheon!”
“Let me see,” inquired Chub, “we posted that letter at the hotel, didn’t we?”
“Of course,” answered Dick. “Roy wrote it that afternoon; don’t you remember?”
“I remember his writing it,” said Chub, “but
