safe!" he murmured over and over again. "My little girl!" and the others
turned away before the depth of his emotion.

His weakness lasted only a moment, then recovering his self-control he
handed Anita over to the affectionate bear hugs of an elder brother, and
turned to his daughter's rescuers.

"Madam," he said to Mrs. Irving, "if you will tell me to whom I am
indebted for Anita's safe return, I will try to thank him or her or all
of you as the case may be. Although thanks at this time seem a small
return for such a service."

"I am sure none of us wish any thanks for whatever little help we may
have been able to render your daughter," Mrs. Irving answered, with
grave courtesy. "We can only thank a kind fate for leading us within
hearing distance of her appeal for help. The rest is simply what you and
your son would have done for any of us had we been in similar danger."

"That doesn't make what you have done any the less splendid," Anita's
brother broke in impulsively, holding his sister as though he would
never let her go again. "Anita is tired now, but when we hear the whole
story, I know we are going to be even more grateful to you than we were
before--eh, Anita?"

"Oh, they were wonderful to me," said the girl, her eyes shining like
stars. "If it hadn't been for them--I don't dare--think----" and again
her hand flew to her eyes to shut out the horror of that awful moment.

Suddenly all Mrs. Irving's mother instinct rose to the fore, and she
spoke impulsively. "Take the child home," she begged; "what she needs
more than anything else is rest. You can see she is at the breaking
point."

Mr. Benton looked at his daughter, who indeed was trembling like a leaf
in her brother's arms, and saw the truth of the statement. "You are
right," he said slowly. "We can't get Anita home too soon." Then,
turning once more to Mrs. Irving, he added, while his eyes traveled over
the group of girls and boys behind her: "Although we haven't time now to
become better acquainted, we are going to stay here the rest of the
summer, and if you expect to remain our neighbors----"

"Yes, father," broke in Anita, "they live at the bungalow at the other
end of the island, and they have already invited Conway and me to visit
them. When shall we go, Con?"

"As soon as you are able, sister dear," Conway Benton said fondly. "I'll
be glad to go any time. Now we will have to get you home."

So, after many words of mutual understanding an