lay gently rocking in the natural dock, without having scraped her paint an atom.
"A fine landing!" exclaimed Tom, taking a turn or two with the rope about a knob of rock.
"Yes, indeed," returned Ruth. She gave a look around. "My, what a lonely spot!"
"It is lonely," the youth answered. "Kind of a Robinson Crusoe place," and he gave a short laugh.
"Listen!" cried Ruth, and held up her hand as a warning.
"What did you hear, Ruth?"
"I thought I heard somebody talking, or calling."
"You did?" Tom listened intently. "I don't hear anything." He listened again. "Yes, I do! Where did it come from?"
"I think it came from yonder," and the girl from the Red Mill pointed to a big, round rock ahead of them.
"Maybe it did, Ruth. We'll—yes, you are right!' exclaimed the boy.
As he spoke there was a scraping sound ahead of them and suddenly a tousled black head popped up over the top of the boulder from which fluttered the bit of white linen that had first attracted Ruth's attention.
"Gracious goodness!" gasped Helen.
"It's Nita!" cried Ruth.
