“That may not give me enough time,” Penny said anxiously.
“If yer late, I’ll wait fer ye,” the widow promised. “But try to be here. If ye hain’t we may havter give up the trip, ’cause it hain’t sensible startin’ in late in the day.”
“I’ll be here,” Penny assured her. “If nothing happens in three-quarters of an hour, I’ll just give it up.”
The boat, it’s motor popping steadily, slipped away. Penny scrambled up the muddy bank, and finding a well-trod path, walked rapidly toward the Hawkins’ place.
Soon she came to the bend in the creek, and there paused. From afar, she could hear the retreating sound of the skiff’s motor.
Through a break in the bushes, the girl peered toward the distant farmhouse. To her disappointment, the yard was now deserted, and Mrs. Hawkins was nowhere in sight.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Penny thought. “I’d hate to waste all this valuable time.”
For a half hour she waited. Twice Mrs. Hawkins came out of the house, once to gather in clothes from the line and the second time to obtain a pail of water.
“I guess my hunch was crazy,” Penny told herself. “I’ll have to be starting back to meet Mrs. Jones.”
The sound of the motorboat now had died out completely, so the girl knew the widow already was on her way to their appointed meeting place.