She attended to her work all the morning, but found herself making little mistakes. She prepared some dinner for herself, but could not eat. In the middle of the afternoon she stole away from Agricola and rowed over to the island. To her immense surprise she found the tent still standing. Maybe the dreadful fight would have to be fought again.
She flitted all over the island, now stopping to touch some favorite pine, now standing on the eastern rim to imagine how steamers would look there. By and by she heard Agricola dolefully howling for her, and went back.
She changed her moccasins for old shoes, put on overalls, and went up to the barn to milk. But no beautiful Jersey greeted her. The naughty Sempronia had failed to come home out of the bush. So she returned to the house and changed back to skirt and moccasins, wistfully longing for just one pretty dress.
It was beginning to rain, and she might expect to see the Kittiwake returning soon. Even a rejected lover had to eat, and she would make some hot corn bread.
She set the fire crackling to get a quick oven, and sifted some of the Little Pine’s snowy flour in with some golden grains. She supposed that the corn meal was cadmium yellow, but why? All she knew about Cadmus was that he was a Tyrian prince who came over to defraud the Greeks in business, and who sowed dissensions that slew all the Horatios.
The time slipped along, the rain fell drowsily on the roof, and at eight o’clock the travelers had not arrived. Perhaps they had motored up the Echo to see the wonderful lake, and were delayed in getting back. She had paddled up that river in her childhood, and could still smell the lilies and the buckwheat, mingled effluences sweeter than sandalwood, and could see the rafts that often delayed a boat.
She sat down and read awhile. She rose and moved restlessly about the house till she found herself in the storeroom, counting her treasures. They had not seemed so imposing at first. Money bought few provisions these days, and this array must have cost something like thirty dollars! The mention of the sum recalled what she had jestingly said to Marvin about English lessons. She studied the Little Pine’s note again, and noticed that he said nothing as to how he “made quite much money.” The thing began to look suspicious.
Shinguakonse had never told her a lie, but if he had run across Marvin Mahan and been made the tool of compassion, her cup of humiliation was full.
In an hour she could know. She would go to the birch-bark lodge which she had helped build, and wake that boy up.
In a few minutes she had stepped into outer darkness, leaving poor Agricola to whine. Once in her dory she fastened her lantern and tucked her sweater under the deck. She worked her way out into the channel and started north. Her blood was up, the night was dark, and she doffed her blouse. Soon she had entered the old unlighted channel and extinguished her light.