“I have been thinking that perhaps the girl Henrietta was looking for was the girl we saw being carried away by those women.”
“Jess Norwood! Do you suppose so?”
“I don’t know whether I suppose so or not,” laughed Jessie. “But I think if I ever see that child again I shall question her more closely.”
She said this without the first idea that little 63 Henrietta would cross their way almost at once. The canoe touched the grassy bank at the edge of the old Carter place at the far end of the lake just before noon. An end of the old house had been burned several years before, but the kitchen ell was still standing, with chimney complete. Picnic parties often used the ruin of the old house in which to sup. It was a shelter, at least.
“I’ve got to eat. I’ve got to eat!” proclaimed Amy, the moment she disembarked. “Actually, I am as hollow as Mockery.”
“Well, I never!” chuckled Jessie. “Your simile is remarkably apt. And I feel that I might do justice to Alma’s sandwiches, myself.”
“Where’s the sun gone?” suddenly demanded Amy, looking up and then turning around to look over the water.
“Why! I didn’t notice those clouds. It is going to shower, Amy, my dear.”
“It is going to thunder and lightning, too,” and Amy looked a little disturbed. “I confess that I do not like a thunderstorm.”
“Let us draw up the canoe and turn it over. Keep the inside of it dry. And we’ll take the cushions up to the old house,” added Jessie, briskly throwing the contents of the canoe out upon the bank.