A year and a day,
To the land where the palm tree grew,”
murmured the cat; and, shake him as she might, that was the only answer Mary Frances could get, until, at length, she could get no answer at all.
After she was certain he was asleep, she went to the bow of the boat and called softly to the dolphin.
He swam up close alongside. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I am, indeed,” replied Mary Frances; “but I want to tell you what the cat told me. First, I want to say that he will not hurt you because he is horribly afraid of the pirate, and he knows that he is safe on The Good Ferry as long as you protect it.”
“That’s right!” said the dolphin. “And now, how about the cat’s tale?”
Then Mary Frances told the dolphin the story the cat had told her.
“Why can’t we search for it now?” she asked.
“Well,” replied the dolphin, “I am not exactly sure about the cat’s tale myself, and every year I take one person direct to the island—that’s my orders—that’s my orders. None of them have ever found the lost story—so I’ve taken them direct home. That’s been my orders; that’s been my orders. Better go on, I say; better not take anybody else’s word, I say, I say.”