CHAPTER XXIV
PLUCKY MOTHER PURLING
Tom Cameron audibly chuckled; but he made believe to be busy with the painter of the catboat and so did not look at the Western girl. The harum-scarum, independent, "rough and ready" runaway was actually on the verge of tears. But—really—it was not surprising.
"How long have you been out here on this rock?" demanded Helen, in horror.
"Ever since I left the bungalow."
"Why didn't you wave your signal from the top of the rock, so that it could be seen on the point?" asked Ruth, wonderingly.
"There's no way to get to the top of the rock—or around to the other side of it, either," declared the runaway. "Look at these clothes! they are nearly torn off. And see my hands!"
"Oh, you poor, poor thing!" exclaimed Helen, seeing how the castaway's hands were torn.
"I tried it. I've shouted myself hoarse. No boat paid any attention to me. They were all too far away, I suppose."
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