“Ye’d better keep yer mouth shut about what ye’ve seen to-day,” he shot out the words with a growl, “or ye’ll be sorry! I’m goin’ to set you ashore pretty soon, not far from yer Camp. Ye’ll have about half a mile to walk; but that ain’t bad for a stocky miss like you.”
“Thank you,” said Anne meekly.
The shadows were slanting low in the west when the pilot made a sharp turn and the boat entered the still waters of a cove. The engine stopped and they drifted. “Ye may git yer feet a bit wet,” said the man; “but I hope ye’re no molly-coddle, if ye’re a camper. Here, git up!” Anne climbed to her feet, rather numb and stiff, and looked around. The place seemed strange, yet curiously familiar. She could not tell what was the matter.
“Which way do I go?” she asked bewildered, when she was ashore.
The man laughed but seemed pleased at her question. “That way,” he said, pointing. “Pike along now, and fergit it!” He repeated the last words again with emphasis, shaking his head solemnly with a threat in his voice.
Anne looked about her dazedly. “Why, I should have guessed it was that way!” she murmured. “I’m all turned around!”
“Must have gone right round the mount-ing,” said the man with a grin. “And it’s pathless wilderness, too,” he spoke slowly. “Ye’re lucky to git off so well, I tell ye!” He was rowing away in the boat. “What’s yer name, missy?” he asked with a sudden thought, lying on his oars. “I might want to remember it, in case ye don’t do as I say. In case ye tell!”
Anne had a mind not to reply, and to run for home instead. But she was too doubtful about the path, and she spoke her name.
“Anne Poole!” exclaimed the man. “Not Chester Poole’s gal?”
“Why, yes,” said Anne, surprised at his black look.