e hole.

"Why, what has he got?" exclaimed Phyllis. "That's no hermit-crab!"

And in truth it was not. For out of the hole the dog was dragging a small
burlap sack which plainly contained some heavy article in its folds!

CHAPTER III

THE MYSTERIOUS CASKET

Both girls dashed forward to snatch the dog's treasure-trove from him.
But Rags had apparently made up his mind that, after his arduous labors,
he was going to have the privilege of examining his find himself. At any
rate, he would not be easily robbed. Seizing the burlap bag in his mouth,
he raced to the water's edge and stood there, guarding his treasure with
mock fierceness. Phyllis, being a stranger, he would not even allow to
approach him, but growled ominously if she came within ten feet of his
vicinity. And when Rags growled, it behooved the stranger to have a care!
Leslie he pretended to welcome, but no sooner had she approached near
enough to lay her hand on the bag than he seized it triumphantly and
raced up the beach.

"Oh, do grab him, somehow!" cried Phyllis, in despair. "He'll drop the
thing in the water and the next breaker will wash it away, and we'll
never know what it was!"

Leslie herself was no less anxious to filch his treasure, but Rags had by
now acquired a decidedly frolicsome spirit, and the chase he led them was
long and weary. Three times he dropped the bag directly in the path of a
breaker, and once it was actually washed out, and the girls groaned in
chorus as they saw it flung into the boiling surf. But another wave
washed it ashore, only to land it again in the custody of Rags before
Leslie could seize it.

Finally, however, he wearied of the sport, and sensing the sad fact that
his prize was in no wise edible, he dropped it suddenly to pursue an
unsuspecting hermit-crab. The girls fell joyfully upon the long-sought
treasure and bore it to the veranda of Curlew's Nest for further
examination.

"What under the sun can it be?" marveled the curious Phyllis. "Something
heavy, and all sewed up in a coarse bag like that! It's as good as a
ghost story. Let's get at it right away."

They sat down on the wet steps while Leslie unrolled the bag,--not much
larger than a big salt-bag,--and tried to tear an opening at the top. But
her slender fingers were not equal to the task, so Phyllis undertook it.

"Let me try!" she urged. "I play the piano a great deal and my fingers