"Look who's here!" called the boy in a low voice. "Here's a Man Friday, sure enough!"
There was a light approaching through the forest path. It was a torch, and before long the wavering brand revealed a strange figure—no Man Friday but, as Whistler whispered, a Woman Friday!
She was a peculiar looking being, indeed, dressed in a single loose flowing garment, which covered her from neck to ankles. She was barefooted and bareheaded, her iron-gray hair tossed about her weather-beaten face in wild elflocks.
Her eyes were as brilliant as coals. Either she was not right in her mind or she assumed that manner. At first she merely glowered at the two boys and the Navy officer, and said nothing in reply to the latter's queries.
Her hands and fingers were gnarled from hard work. She looked as tough as bale wire, to quote Torry.
When she finally spoke her voice was as deep and coarse as a man's. She said:
"You-uns was blowed up in yon channel. And you lost your boat, ain't you?"
"Crickey!" gasped Torry to Whistler. "She's a German—a German with a southern accent! What do you know about that?"
Meanwhile Mr. MacMasters was interrogating her to some purpose.
"Have you seen others of our party?" he asked. "There were fourteen men and boys on a raft."