At the first sight of the old crone Betty had drawn back, and now, as
the fishwife spoke, in a voice which she tried to render melodious,
though it ended only in a croak, the Little Captain seemed to urge her
chums away.

"What does she mean?" whispered Grace.

"Come in and rest--it is wearyin' work, walkin' in the sand," the woman
persisted. "I know, for many a day I have walked it lookin' for my man
to come back from the fishin' channel. But he's away now, and it's
lonesome for an old woman. Do come ye in!"

"No, thank you, we like to be out of doors," answered Betty,
forestalling something Amy was going to say.

"I could give you a drink of milk," the old fishwife went on. "Nice cold
milk. And cookies I baked myself--molasses cookies."

"No, thank you just the same," spoke Betty, in a voice she tried to
render appreciative, though she showed a distinct distaste for the
nearness of the old woman. "We have just had breakfast," she added.

"But won't you come in and rest?" the crone persisted. "The walk in the
sand----"

"No, we aren't tired," said Mollie, seconding Betty's efforts. "And we
must be going back. Come on, girls. I'll race you to the old boat!" she
cried, with a sudden air of gaiety, and she set off at a rapid pace.

For a moment the others hung back, and then Betty cried:

"Come on, girls! It sha'n't be said that Billy beat me!"

The old woman stared after the girls, uncomprehendingly for a moment,
and then, with a scowl on her face, turned back to the hut again.

"Run on! Run on!" she muttered. "But I'll get ye yet! I'll get ye!"

She turned, and seeing the backs of the girls toward her, shook a
gnarled and wrinkled fist at them.

"I'll get ye yet!" she repeated.

As she entered the hut a man's face was thrust down through an opening
in the ceiling--a hole that had been covered by a hatch-board.

"Wouldn't they come?" he asked.

"Naw! They turned from me as if I was dirt."

"The snips! Well, maybe we'll get another chance."

"Another chance?" repeated the crone.

"Yes! We've got to, I tell you. If not, Jake will----"

"Hush! No names!" cautioned the woman.

Meanwhile the outdoor girls, having raced to the goal, an old boat
half-buried in the sand, came to a panting halt. Mollie had won, chiefly
because she had started off before the others, for Betty was accounted
the best runner of her chums.

"Well, what does it all mean?" asked Grace, who came limping in last,
for, in sp