"And books!" frowned George Keets. "The weirdest little old edition of 'Pilgrim's Progress'!" "And toys!" quivered the May Girl. "A perfectly gorgeous brand new box of 'Toy Village'! As huge as--Oh it was awful!" "As huge as--that!" kicked young Kennilworth wryfully against the box at his feet. "I wanted to bring the chafing dish," he scolded, "but nothing would satisfy this young idiot here except that we lug the Toy Village.----" "One couldn't bring--everything all at once," deprecated the May Girl. "Perhaps to-morrow--if it isn't too far--and we ever could find it again----" "But why such haste about the 'Toy Village'?" I questioned. "Why not the dresses? The----" Hopelessly, but with her eyes like blue skies, her cheeks like apple-blossoms, the May Girl tried to justify her mental processes. "Probably I can't explain exactly," she admitted, "but books and dishes and dresses being just things wouldn't mind being drowned but toys, I think, would be frightened." With a frank expression of shock she stopped suddenly and stared all around her. "It doesn't quite make sense when you say it out loud, does it?" she reflected. "But when you just feel it--inside----" "I brought the little 'Pilgrim's Progress' back with me," confessed George Keets with the faintest possible smile. "Not exactly perhaps because I thought it would be 'frightened.' But two nights shipwreck on a New England coast in this sort of weather didn't seem absolutely necessary." "And I brought the dinkiest little pearl-handled pistol," brightened Paul Brenswick. "It's a peach! Tucked into the pocket of an old blue cape it was! Wonder I ever found it!" From a furious rummaging through her pockets the May Girl suddenly withdrew her hand. "Of course, we'll have to watch the shipwreck news," said the May Girl. "Or even advertise, perhaps. So maybe there won't be any real treasure-trove after all. But just to show that I thought of you, Mrs. Delville," she dimpled, "here are four very damp spools of red sewing-silk for your own work-table drawer! Maybe they came all the way from China! And here's a--I don't know what it is, for Allan John--I think it's a whistle! And here's a little not-too-soggy real Morocco-bound blank book for Mr. Rollins when he comes down-stairs again! And----" "And for Mr. Delville?" I teased. "And for Ann Woltor?" With her hand slapped across her mouth in a gesture of childish dismay, the May Girl stared round at her companions. "Oh dear--Oh dear--Oh _dear_!" she stammered. "None of us ever thought once of poor Mr. Delville and Miss Woltor!" "It's hot eatments and drinkments that you'd better be thinking of now!" I warned them all with real concern. "And blanket-wrappers! And downy quilts! Be off to your rooms and I'll send your lunches up after you! And don't let one of you dare show his drenched face down-stairs again until suppertime!"