CHAPTER III


The envelope was a square, thinnish one, addressed in very small,
black handwriting.

"It _must_ be from The Bottle," Jerry said; "otherwise they wouldn't
have thought you were a boy and put Christopher."

I had been thinking just the same thing while I was trying to open
the envelope. It was one of the very tightly stuck kind that
scrumples up when you try to rip it with your finger, and we had to
slit it with a fruit-knife before we could get at the letter. There
were sheets of thin paper all covered with writing, and when Jerry
and Greg saw that, they both fell upon it so that none of us could
read it at all. I persuaded them that the quickest thing to do would
be to let me read it aloud, and as we'd finished breakfast anyway,
we each took our last piece of toast in our hands and went out and
sat on the bottom step of the porch. I read:


_Fellow Adventurers and Mariners in Distress:_

By this time there may be naught left of you but a whitening
huddle of bones, surf bleached on the end of Wecanicut,--for
I know well what meager fare are eiligugs' eggs and barnacles.
However, I take the chance of finding at least one of you
alive, and address you fraternally as a companion in distress.