"Yes," cried Margaret, excitedly. "The boat has stopped and he is running to make it. Oh, he won't get there! They are taking in the plank!... No, they are waiting for him. He has got on! The boat is pushing off and there isn't a soul left on the dock!"
"Then you are safe for a while at least. It will take him the best part of an hour to get back. What are you going to do now?"
"I must leave this place—at once!" cried Margaret. "Can you tell me about the trains?"
"Yes. They go to Petoskey every half hour. But this is a dummy line and ends at Petoskey. Shall you risk staying there? The place is very accessible from We-que-ton-sing."
"No, I shouldn't dare to do that. We will go back to Mackinac as soon as we can get a train out of Petoskey."
"I should lose no time. You could hardly be ready for the next train, which comes in fifteen minutes, but if you make the one following it will connect you with the G. R. and I. for Mackinac."
"Oh, thank you so much. It is such a help to know this."
At parting, Margaret pressed her lips to the elder woman's soft cheek. "You have been so good to me! I knew I could trust you!"
On the porch Philip turned back. A chipmunk had just run up the steps and stood looking at them. "Are the squirrels your children?" he asked politely.
"My children?" She was not used to the fanciful vagaries of a child's brain. "No, my dear, I haven't any children."