“The old settlers,” said Jack softly, “thought the fireflies were evil spirits, and used to set out pails of milk to appease them, and thus keep themselves and their property from all harm.”
“If they were as thick then as they are tonight,” laughed Desiré, “think how many pails they must have had. You know so many things, Jack”; adding, a moment later, something which had been on her mind all day.
“Do you suppose that man will ever come back?”
“You mean the one who disputed our rights?”
Desiré nodded, burying her face on her brother’s shoulder, much as Priscilla might have done.
“I hardly think so, dear,” replied Jack, stroking her curls. “He was pretty well subdued.”
“But he might try to get even with you some way,” shuddered the girl.
“We’ll keep a sharp lookout for him, but otherwise go on our way and try not to worry about mere possibilities, little sister,” decreed the boy firmly.
“If we could only find out what the paper means,” she observed a little later, her eyes on the shining waters of the Bay.
“What paper?” asked Jack suddenly, roused from serious thoughts of his own.