The ground before the cook-tent was soft, and trampled by the girls'

own feet. Laura went carefully around to the rear, stepping on firm ground so as to leave no marks.

There was a rear opening to the cook-tent--out of the part Liz had been sleeping in. But these flaps were laced down.

However, there were marks in the soft ground right here--footmarks that could not be mistaken. They were prints of a man's boot--no girl in the crowd wore such footgear as those that made these marks!

The boot-prints led right from the laced flaps of the tent toward the woods. Laura could see fully a dozen of the marks, all headed that way. The man had come from the inside of the tent, for there were no footprints showing an approach to the tent from this end.

"I knew that girl did not cry because of the thunder and lightning,"

was Laura's decision. "This man burst into the tent while she was alone. And for some reason she is afraid to tell us the truth about him.

"Of course, she hasn't really told a falsehood. She just let us believe that it was the storm that had scared her.

"Now, who is the man? Is she sheltering him because of fear, or for another reason?

"And what did he want? Why did he come to the tent in the storm? For shelter from the rain? Not probable. I declare!" thought Mother Wit, "this is as puzzling a thing as ever I heard."

She said nothing to anybody before breakfast about her discoveries.

She did not wish to disturb Mrs. Morse, for that lady had come into the woods for a rest from her social duties, and for the writing of a book. Why should she be troubled by a mere mystery?

The detective fever burned hotly in Laura Belding's veins on this morning. From Jess she could not keep her discovery for long; but she swore her chum to silence.

Then she took Bobby Hargrew into her confidence. Despite the younger girl's recklessness, she was brave and physically strong.

"We're going to run down Lizzie's 'ha'nt,' if the Barnacle has a nose," declared Laura, after the trio had discussed the pros and cons of the affair.

So they loosened the dog, Laura holding him in leash, and slipped away to the woods when none of the other members of the party were watching. Laura knew that the scent would not lie very strong after the pelting rain; but they could follow the trail by sight for a long distance.

It led straight toward the far end of Acorn Island--the end which they and the boys had so carelessly searched the day after the larder had been robbed. Here and there they came upon the print of the unknown man's boots in the softened soil.

"Gee, Laura!" gasped Bobby. "Suppose he turns on us? We don't know whether he is a robber or a minister. What will we do when we find him?"

"That depends altogether upon what he looks like," said Laura. "Now hush, Bobby. The Barnacle is pulling hard; he really smells something."

"I hope it isn't another black and white kitten," chuckled Bobby.

They went down a slope to a small hollow, well sheltered by trees and rocks. There was a faint odor of wood smoke in the air.

"A camp," whispered Jess, having hard work to keep her teeth from nervously chattering, despite the heat of the day, "Who do you suppose is here?"

"We'll see," whispered Laura in return, and slipped the dog's leash.

The Barnacle ran down into the dale at once. The three girls followed, cautiously parting the branches. They came in sight of the fire.

It was the remains of a late breakfast-fire, without doubt. There was a single figure sitting at one side of the smoldering wood. Barnacle was running about the encampment, snuffing eagerly for broken bits. He paid the figure by the fire no attention, nor did the man look at the dog.

The man stooped, and his face was buried in his hands. He wore a shabby frock coat, and a disreputable hat.

"That's one of those two fishermen we saw in the canoe," whispered Jess.

"Wonder if you're right?" breathed Bobby.

Just then the man raised his head and turned so that the three girls from Central High could see his face. It was unshaven and the man looked altogether like a tramp. But there was no mistaking him for anybody but Professor Dimp, the Latin and history instructor of Central High!

CHAPTER XVII

A PERFECTLY UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW

"Goodness gracious!" gasped Bobby, the first to find her breath. She fell limply against Laura and Jess. "What do you know about _that_?

Say, girls! Do you see the same thing I do, or am I going crazy?"

"Hush!" commanded Jess, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Don't be ridiculous, child," advised Laura, rather sharply. "He will hear you----"

"Will that be a crime?" demanded Bobby, still in a whisper.

"It may be," said Laura, slowly. "We don't know why the professor is here."

"To commune with nature, I judge," said Jess, drily.

"I can't imagine Old Dimple communing with nature--not as a pastime,"

giggled Bobby.

"He surely has some good reason for being here," Laura murmured.

"We won't accuse him of robbing the camp that time, I suppose?" asked Jess. "Or being up there last evening in the storm?"

"That trail came this way," declared Bobby, suddenly forgetting to laugh.

"Barnacle's nose might have deceived him," said Laura.

"I haven't faith in much of that dog _but_ his nose," declared Jess.

"He showed particular intelligence in following the trail down here.

Why should we suddenly suspect him of being foolish, just because we found what we didn't expect."

"Clear as mud!" exclaimed Bobby. "'Didn't expect' is good, however. If you had asked me a minute before we saw him, who was the most unexpected person to find at the end of our walk, I should have said Old Dimple."

"Why!" gasped Jess, "it _couldn't_ be Professor Dimp."

"You mean he couldn't have been the kleptomaniantic thief?" chuckled Bobby.

Laura began to laugh softly herself. "Nor could he have been the person we--and the Barnacle--have been trailing," she said, suddenly.