my book, and I read all I wanted to, and still Mr. Garry didn't come
back. I could hear voices on the river, and once in a while a canoe shot
past, but none of them was Mr. Garry, or Aunty Edith's rowboat.

By and by they stopped coming past and then I got up and went along the
bank and looked for him. I could see, way across the river, a little
white speck, shining through the trees, which I knew was our house.

My! didn't I want to be there! I didn't have any matches, of course. I'm
not allowed to carry them. I couldn't make a fire, or anything, though
it began to get dusky, and still Mr. Garry didn't come.

Then, suddenly, I remembered that he was an absent-minded beggar who
forgot things, and maybe he'd forgot me. That made me feel awfully queer
and lumpy inside me, and besides I was getting tired.

Nobody lived on that Island, except maybe some ground-hogs and
squirrels and snakes, and--it wasn't any place for a boy who didn't have
any food or tent or fire.

First thing I knew, when that struck me, I heard myself bawl--right out,
"Oh, Aunty May--COME! Oh, Aunty May!" and then I was really frightened,
for it sounded so loud, and so scared, and so babyish.

I kept still for a minute, and swallowed hard and then I yelled, "Hey!
Hey!" out loud, without crying--hoping somebody would hear me. I did it
a great many times, but nobody answered. Then I remembered that the boys
were always landing here and hollering and shouting in fun, and nobody
would pay any attention to it.