“All right, but first, let’s bury these apples and potatoes, or they’ll be stolen, too.”

“Good idea!” And they buried their treasures in the nice, clean sand, and marked the place with an inconspicuous stick.

Then they set out to hunt their lost wood.  The beach, though flat and shelving at the water’s edge, rose in a low bluff farther back, and this offered among its irregular projections many good hiding-places for their quarry.

And, sure enough, after some searching, they came suddenly upon three boys who sat, shaking with laughter, upon a pile of wood.

The two Maynards glared at them rather angrily, upon which the three again went off in peals of laughter.

“That’s our wood!” began King, aggressively.

“Sure it is!” returned the biggest boy, still chuckling.

“What did you bring it over here for?”

“Just for fun!”

“H’m, just for fun!  And do you think it would be fun to carry it back again?”

“Yep; just’s lieve as not.  Come on, kids!” And that remarkable boy began to pick up the sticks.

“Oh, hold on,” said King.  “If you’re so willing, you needn’t do it!  Who are you, anyway?”

“Well,” said the biggest boy, suddenly straightening himself up and bowing politely to Marjorie, “we’re your neighbors.  We live in that green house next to yours.  And we’re named Tom, Dick, and Harry.  Yes, I know you think those names sound funny, but they’re ours all the same.  Thomas, Richard, and Henry Craig,—­at your service!  I’m Tom.  This is Dick, and this is Harry.”

He whacked his brothers on the shoulder as he named them, and they ducked forward in polite, if awkward salutation.

“And did you really take our wood?” said Marjorie, with an accusing glance, as if surprised that such pleasant-spoken boys could do such a thing.

“Yes, we did.  We wanted to see what sort of stuff you were made of.  You know Seacote people are sort of like one big family, and we wanted to know how you’d behave about the wood.  You’ve been fine, and now we’ll cart it back where we found it.  If you had got mad about it, we wouldn’t touch a stick to take it back,—­would we, fellows?”

“Nope,” said the other two, and the Maynards could see at once that Tom was the captain and ringleader of the trio.

“Well,” said King, judicially, “if you hadn’t been the sort you are, I should have got mad.  But I guess you’re all right, and so you may take it back.  But we don’t help you do it,—­see?  I’m Kingdon Maynard, and this is my sister Marjorie.  You fellows took our wood, and now you’re going to return it.  Is that right?”

“Right-o!” said Tom.  “Come on, fellows.”

The three boys flew at it, and King and Midget sat on the sand and watched them till the wood was restored to its original position.

“All right,” said King; “you boys’ll do.  Now, come on and roast potatoes with us.”