"Mercy, no!" laughed Pen. "Far too much to do!"
"I suppose there are lots of agreeable people in the neighborhood?"
"Up the county, oh yes," said Pen.
"And you have all sorts of jolly parties?"
"They do," said Pen briefly.
"Not you?"
Pen explained. "The road from here up the Neck that connects us with the world has become impassable for motors, even if we had one. Even a buggy can scarcely get through now. By road it's twelve miles to the nearest white man's house. Excepting the squatters. Our only way of communication is by motor-boat with the Island. Our friends do not live on the Island. And we've no way of getting up the county."
"Have you no white neighbors at all?" he asked aghast.
"Old Mr. Weems Locket who keeps the lighthouse."
"No white woman near?"