up to a pretty soft spot in the thicket, and
there found a little pigeon enjoying the last crumbs of Cleo's cake.
Although the approach meant some more crackling of leaves and sticks,
the bird seemed not the least disturbed, in fact, as the scouts looked
down he looked up with a perky twist of his graceful throat.

"Must be tame," suggested Louise. "I hope those children down by the
water don't come romping up to scare him off."

Cautiously Grace approached in that steady, definite manner that always
seems to mean still motion. The bird hardly fluttered, but when the
girl threw out a few more crumbs he proudly hopped toward her.

"He has something tied to his leg," said Grace, keeping her voice down
to almost a murmur. "I believe he is a carrier pigeon."

"Surely," agreed Louise, for the tiny speck on the bird's leg was
plainly an aluminum strip such as marks the carrier bird.

The same thought flashed through the mind of each--who would be sending
private messages through that grove!

"I suppose we wouldn't dare look at the note," said Grace. "They are
always in a piece of gelatine under the wing."

"My, no," replied Cleo, "that would be equivalent to robbing the mails."

"But this mail seems to want robbing," said Louise quietly, "just see
how he waits? Maybe this is his station."

So intent were they on watching the dove they did not hear an
approaching step. It came so stealthfully, creeping along the soft
marshy ground, scarcely a sound broke the woodland stillness; only the
voices of children down at the landing, giving evidence of other life
than that of the Girl Scouts on the island.

"Oh see!" said Grace. "This leg is hurt. Perhaps that is why he doesn't
fly off," and noticing for the first time that the bird hopped on one
slender leg, Grace stepped up nearer to examine the injury. As she did a
voice sounded just back of the group, and a very sharp voice it was.

"Hey there! You leave that bird alone!" came the shrill order.

Turning, they confronted the girl they had privately named Letty.

"Oh, is he your bird?" asked Louise confidently. "He seems to be
injured, and we thought we might help fix the injury."

"Oh, yes, you did," sneered the girl. "A whole lot you thought that.
Guess you had an eye on Lovey's mail bag. Here Lovey!" she sort of cooed
to the bird. The change in her voice was remarkable. It softened to a
caress as she stooped to pick up the little carrier pigeon.

First she looked