“Goin’ in fer a little fishin’, I take it,” Mrs. Hawkins observed by way of inquiry. “But where’s yer fishin’ poles?”
“Left ’em ter home,” the widow replied.
“Then you hain’t fishin’.”
“’Pears like yer right smart at usein’ yer eyes,” the widow agreed dryly.
A slight frown which did not escape Penny, puckered the farm woman’s forehead. She seemed on the verge of speaking, then appeared to change her mind. As the boat drifted on, she watched stolidly.
“Never did like that woman,” Mrs. Jones commented when the skiff had rounded a bend. “She’s got sharp eyes, and she don’t approve ’cause we’re goin’ inter the swamp together.”
“Why should she care?” Penny asked.
“I wonder myself.”
“I’ve noticed that she always seems to be watching the entrance channel into the swamp,” Penny said thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is the one who taps out those signals!”
“Signals? What do you mean, young’un?”