Without Jessie and Amy, however, Henrietta confessed she was very lonely. Sometimes she listened to the radio all alone, sitting quietly and hearing even lectures and business talks out of the air that ordinarily could not have interested the child. But she said it reminded her of “Miss Jessie” just to sit with the ear-tabs on.
She had heard about the older girls going to the lighthouse station to interview the wireless operator there, and although Henrietta knew that the government reservation at that end of the island was no part of the old Padriac Haney estate, she wandered down there alone on the second day of the yacht’s absence and climbed up into the tower.
The storm had blown itself out on shore, and the sun was going down in golden glory. Out at sea, although the waves still rolled high and the clouds were tumultuous in appearance, there was nothing to threaten a continuation of the unsettled weather.
Henrietta had no idea how long it would be before the yacht reached Boston, although she had heard a good deal of talk about it. She had watched the Marigold steam out of sight into the east, and it seemed to the little girl that her friends were just there, beyond the horizon line, where she had seen the last patch of the Marigold’s smoke disappear.
The wireless operator had seen Henrietta before, cavorting about the beach and leading the other children in their play, and he was prepared for some of her oddities. But she surprised him by her very first speech.
“You’re the man that can send words out over the ocean, aren’t you?”
“I can send signals,” he admitted, but rather puzzled.
“Can folks like Miss Jessie and Miss Amy hear ’em?” demanded Henrietta.
“Only if they are on a boat that has a wireless outfit.”
“They got it on that Marigold,” announced Henrietta.