“Say, but how good that sounds!” he thrilled, suddenly halting. He had the presence of mind next to slip behind the trunk of a big tree.
A horse was moving lazily along the road. There was the sound of wheels, too, though above all rose a cheery whistling, as though the owner of that pair of lips were the happiest mortal alive. It was a good, contented whistling. It had about it, too, the ring of honesty. The cheery sound made Tom Halstead feel faith at once in the owner of that whistle.
Then there came into sight a plain, much-worn open buggy, drawn by a sleek-looking gray horse. Seated in the vehicle was a youngster of about Tom’s own age, who looked much like a farmer’s boy. He had no coat on, his suspenders being much in evidence. On his head he wore a nondescript, broad-brimmed straw hat of the kind used by haymakers. At least it looked as though it might once have been that sort of a hat, but its shape was gone. From where Halstead stood not much of a glimpse could be had of the boy’s face.
“Good evening, friend,” Tom hailed, stepping out from behind the tree.
“Evening! Who-o-oa!” The other boy reined up, peering down through the semidarkness. “Want a lift?”
“Just what, if it happens that you’re headed toward the town of Nantucket,” Tom replied.
“That’s just where I’m headed. But hold on—gracious! I came within an ace of forgetting. I’ve got to turn back and drive to Sanderson’s for a basket of eggs. Won’t take me long, though. Pile in.”
Tom gladly accepted the invitation. After his late experiences it seemed good to be again with some one who appeared to be wholesome and friendly. The other boy turned about, laying the whip lightly over the horse.
“Look as if you were off of some yacht,” commented the other boy, noting Halstead’s blue trousers and cap.
“I’m the skipper at present on Mr. Dunstan’s ‘Meteor,’” Tom explained.
“Say, that’s the man whose son disappeared to-day,” exclaimed the other boy.
“Yep; it’s all over the island now, I guess. Constables been going everywhere and asking a heap of questions. Have they found young Ted?”
“Too bad. But who could have wanted him to disappear?”
“That’s a long story,” Tom answered discreetly. “But say, where are you going?”
For the young driver was turning off the road to go to the very farmhouse to which the pier seemed to belong.