“He consumes pie while he’s consumed with fear,” Roy said.

“He consumes everything,” said Warde.

“Oh, what will we ever do?” Minerva walled, wringing her arms in desperation.

“The thing to do is to reach him before he gets really started,” said Doc Carson, who was ever thoughtful and far-sighted.  “When he starts he works fast.  I don’t think he’s really begun yet.  He believes in fair play and he wouldn’t start before ten o’clock—­that’s refreshment time, isn’t it?”

“It was to be,” said Minerva.

“That’s the time we were waiting for,” said Brownie.

“Has he a watch?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, it’s usually about twenty minutes fast,” said Roy.

“Oh, isn’t that perfectly terrible!” said Dora.

“He’ll make terrible inroads on it,” said Connie Bennett.

“Inroads!” said Roy.  “You mean turnpikes and highways.”

“Well, then, why don’t you boys hurry?” Minerva asked excitedly.  “It isn’t too late. Oh, do hurry!”

“We can never tow that island back against the tide,” said Dorry Benton.

“We can remove the stuff to the boat though,” said Artie Van Arlen.

“I’m going to ’phone to Mr. Speeder to get his motor-boat and go after him; he can tow it back.”

“Listen—­shh—­he’s calling,” said Townsend.

“Shh—­shhhh!”

“Listen.”

From down the river, a little farther than before, came a voice spent by the distance. “I’m on the flats, I’m stuck.”

“Thank goodness!” said Minerva.  “Now we can reach him.”

“Are you going around?” Townsend shouted.

“The sandwiches are all falling down,” called the voice.  “The doughnuts are rolling out.”

“Save them,” shouted Roy.

“All right, I will,” screamed Pee-wee.

“Oh, such a relief,” said Minerva.  “Do you think he’s stuck fast?”

“We can only hope,” said Townsend.  “Come on, let’s hustle.”

Words cannot describe the haste and excitement with which the skiff was launched and manned by a little band of doughty pioneers.  Roy, Warde Hollister and Townsend Ripley were the crew, two rowing while the other steered.

“Can we help ourselves?” Warde asked, as they glided out on the river.

“Yes, yes, yes, help yourselves to anything,” called Minerva, “only bring them back—­pile them in the boat—­it doesn’t make any difference how—­only hurry, he may drift off again.”

“Now you see,” said Roy, addressing Warde, “the harder you work and the longer you wait the hungrier you’ll be.  Everything is working out fine, thanks to me.”

“Oh, sure,” said Warde, already breathless from his strenuous rowing, “they give you roast turkey up at Skybrows; they give you chicken salad and sandwiches and—­only try to get it.  I’m so hungry I could eat the island, thanks to you.  I could eat a whisk-broom.  Follow you and I’ll starve.”