Seven rings. One mystery.

DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG.

Seven rings drift across the harbor. Captain Pip sits up so quickly that his woolly hat falls into his cocoa.

The fog bell rings once for supper and twice for visitors. It has never rung seven times. Tonight, the bell keeper is at the pumpkin party. Nobody should be ringing it at all.

“Well,” says Pip, fishing out his hat, “either the bell has learned to count, or somebody needs us.” On the path below the tower lie three odd things: a button, a line of little footprints, and a folded scrap of paper.