“Look at that funny heap of stones ahead,” said Meg, as they rounded the point of the island farthest from the bungalow.  “Look, you can see where the chimney was!”

“And there’s a broken express wagon,” added Dot.  “Do you suppose a little boy used to live there?”

Father Blossom gave a low whistle of surprise.

“Children,” he announced gravely, “that is where the Harleys used to live.”  Then to Mother Blossom:  “It has fallen to pieces since I was up here last Summer.  I think part of it was struck by lightning.”

CHAPTER XI

A DAMP ADVENTURE

The Harley shack had never been a very fine building, but it had once been a home and, though the four little Blossoms were too small to realize it, it was the sight of the forlorn chimney and fireplace, the broken express wagon and the broken bits of furniture that made them feel sad.

“Why do I want to cry, Mother?” Meg kept asking.  “What makes me sorry?”

“’Cause we don’t know where Mrs. Harley went,” asserted Twaddles wisely.

“That’s it, darling,” said Mother Blossom tenderly.

From the Harley shack, the Blossoms went down to the shore and, by using Father Blossom’s field glasses, were able to see the two islands that lay to the north of Apple Tree Island and which, rumor said, were used by smugglers.  But the children could not forget the Harleys, and as they continued their walk around the island they discussed the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Harley and the children.

“I wish we could find ’em!” said Meg earnestly.  “Wouldn’t that be fine, Bobby?”

“Yes.  But how can we?” replied the practical Bobby.  “They aren’t on the island, and we are.  Perhaps they went to China.”

“I’m so sorry for Mr. Harley,” struck in Dot.  “Do you remember his little boys, Bobby?”

Bobby wasn’t sure.

“I don’t think I do,” he answered cautiously.  “If one of ’em wore a blue sailor suit with a red tie and the other had long pants, then I do; I’ll ask Mother.”

“My dear little son!” exclaimed Mother Blossom, laughing when Bobby asked her if the Harley boys wore such clothes.  “They were little fellows, about the size of Twaddles—­how could one of them wear long trousers?  And you were eight months old, just a little baby.  You are thinking of some other boys you have seen.”

Because Father Blossom had insisted that Mother Blossom was to enjoy a real vacation, there was very little unpacking to be done.  The Winthrops had left their bungalow fully furnished, and though there was no one on the island to help with the housework, Mother Blossom declared that if they all helped her there would not be much to do.  In a few days they felt very much at home and the children voted Apple Tree Island quite as delightful as Brookside Farm.

“Where you going, Dot?” Twaddles called one morning soon after they had arrived.