They met the men who were coming to pull the automobile out of the ice pond.  Mr. McCarthy gave them the additional job of towing the wrecked car to the nearest garage.

Mr. McCarthy was in luck.  The automobile that they had heard approaching was a big power moving-van that had been down the coast with a load of furniture for a city family who were moving into their summer home.  The driver was willing to give Mr. McCarthy a lift, and a few moments later the contractor was bowling along the highway on his way to Portsmouth, thence on to his home at Meadow-Brook.  The girls stood waving to him as long as the big car was in sight, he occasionally leaning out to wave back at them.  They then retraced their steps to the camp, talking animatedly about the great treat in store for them—­the sailboat with the homely name.  They could scarcely contain themselves until the morrow, when the boat was to arrive.  In the meantime everybody went over to examine the trail that Tommy Thompson had found.  As she had said, it led into the woods and was there lost.  Harriet showed them as nearly as possible where she had lain when the man stumbled over her, but search as they might they were unable to find a single trace of the box that had so mysteriously disappeared.

At supper that evening Mrs. Livingston advised the girls to say nothing to any one outside of their own companions regarding the strange proceeding.  She explained that, by remaining silent on the subject, they might be able to learn more about it, and that perhaps some violation of the law might be at the bottom of it.

Early on the following morning all the girls were up scanning the sea for a sail.  A coasting schooner in the far distance, making up the coast, was the only boat in sight.  The day was brilliant with sunshine, the sea blue and sparkling.  The lookouts could see a long distance.  The day passed and the night passed, but still no trace of their boat.  Nor had the other mysterious craft paid another visit to the bay.  At least, if it had, none of the campers had been awake at the time.

It was late that afternoon when some one raised a shout and pointed up the coast.  There, about five miles away, was a tiny speck of white that they knew to be a sail.  There seemed to be but a single sail, which told them that a small boat was carrying it.  Then, again, the sail looked so white that they decided it must either be their boat or a private yacht cruising down the coast.

“It does look more like a yacht than the ‘tub’ that Mr. McCarthy described,” said the Chief Guardian.  “If this is the ‘Sister Sue’ she is a very trim little craft.”

The beach was lined with Camp Girls eagerly watching the approaching sailboat, which was coming on at what seemed to them to be an aggravatingly slow rate of speed.

“What he needs is an engine,” declared Jane.  “Now, if he had that motor that’s doubled up under the car we ran into the ditch, he could make some time.”