“IF only—” whispered Mary Frances to herself, as she closed the book she had been reading, “if only one could find the ‘enchanted island,’ and the ‘hidden treasure of stories’—I wish—I wish the story told how to get there!”
She was sitting on the branches of a tree, which were so bent that they formed a sort of hammocky rocking chair. The tree was close to the bank of the river, and away in the distance the whitecaps of the ocean rolled up and broke upon the beach.
“It’s quite a journey,” said a small voice, “quite a long journey.”
Mary Frances looked all around, but could not find where the voice came from.
“You see, it’s out at sea,” continued the voice; “and only one boat and one passenger a year. What’s more——”
This last was uttered with a deep sigh.
“Why, where are you? Who are you?” asked Mary Frances, springing up.
“Here I am, but I won’t be long,” continued the voice. “You’d better look lively, for I can’t cling to this fence much longer. Besides, I am almost out of element!”
Then the little girl saw a dolphin sitting on the top rail of the fence, holding on with one fin.