“What’s that?”
“Some folks calls it Faro Beach.”
Mrs. Henderson gasped. The name recalled shocking stories of a river resort where games of chance had flourished in open disregard of the law until a murder had awakened public conscience and it had been closed. “I wouldn’t think of going there,” she objected, and suddenly she began to laugh. “We are creatures of convention. What difference does it make what the place was? Indeed, if they were gambling now it wouldn’t hurt these mothers and their babies.” Her manner became decisive. “Virginia, as soon as you have your lunch, go and see the place. If it is what we want, make arrangements for the use of it. We don’t care about its history.”
Strange as it may seem, when Virginia arrived at Elgin’s Grove that afternoon she found that Ike’s description was not exaggerated. Great oaks towered towards the blue sky shading a green sod, clear of underbrush, rolling towards the river. The buildings were good, although locked, and there was a well with a pump at which Ike, much oppressed by the heat, refreshed himself, and recommended the water to Virginia as of superior quality, in these words. “It tast’tes lak de water f’om de seep back o’ ma ole home in Tennessee. Dats de fines’ water in de worl’.”
The owner of the grove, a farmer, living a bachelor existence, after listening in a cold and suspicious manner to Virginia’s enthusiastic description of the purposes of the picnic, suddenly thawed. Refusing pay for the grove, he announced his personal desire to be present. Having been straightway invited by Virginia, he agreed to unlock a building to afford shelter in case of rain, mow among the trees to scare out the snakes, and to clean out the well to insure a pure water supply. “Coming on the Nancy Jane?” he asked her.
“The Nancy Jane?” questioned the girl.
“Yes, the steamboat that used to run here.”
Virginia became interested. “I didn’t know that steamboats ran on this river.”
“The Nancy Jane ain’t exactly running,” admitted the farmer. “She is tied up at South Ridgefield unless she’s sunk since last week. The Nancy Jane is the best way to get to this grove and old Bill Quince is the man to bring the old boat here. Bill Quince knows this river.”
“Would it be safe to bring the babies on it?” Virginia asked, troubled.