much about it as it is possible to know.

Tunis could not have walked up to any adult person on Wreckers' Head
and asked the question which he put to little John-Ed on the spur of
the moment:

"Where is she?"

He did not have to utter Sheila's name. Indeed, he was doubtful by
what name it would be wise to call her. But he did not have to be
plainer with little John-Ed. He saw in the sly expression of the
boy's eyes that he knew whom he meant. But he shook his head.

"You know where she went," was the schooner captain's accusation.
"Where is she?"

"I--I can't tell you," stammered the boy. "I promised not."

A promise is a promise, especially to a small boy who scorns to
"snitch." Tunis thought a moment.

"Show me," he said, and his voice had in it that tone which made the
foremast hands jump to obey when a squall was coming.

The boy got promptly off the wall.

"All right," he said gruffly. "But don't you tell her I showed you,
Cap'n Tunis Latham."

"Trust me," agreed the captain of the _Seamew_, and followed after
little John-Ed with such tremendous strides that the latter had to
run to keep ahead of him.

Tunis was led to that point on the bluff from which a curl of smoke
from the cabin chimney could be seen. He halted almost in
horror--stricken to the heart when he understood.

"Alone?" he muttered.

"Yep," was the reply. "She's playing she's a castaway. Nobody but me
knows it."

Then, fearing he had said too much, John-Ed ran away.

Tunis descended the bluff by a perilous path--he would not delay to
go around by the cart track--and came in plain view of the cabin.
The door hinge had been repaired, and the door now swung freely. A
strip of cotton cloth had been tacked over the gaping window. There
was that neatness about the abandoned cabin which must always be
associated in his mind with Sheila Macklin, even had he not seen her
sitting pensively upon a driftwood timber by the door.

The ax had been doing good service, for there was a great
heap of wood cut into stove lengths. The fragrant odor of
something--chowder, perhaps--simmering on the stove, floated
through the open door.

It was the coarse sand crunching under his boots which aroused her.
She did not start at his approach, but raised her eyes languidly. He
wondered if she had expected him. She must have seen the _Seamew_
pass several hours earlier as they headed in toward the channel.

"My God, Sheila!" he exclaimed with bitterness,