“Good old McQueen,” she sighed. “God surely knows all our needs. He sends us such men.”
Suddenly her feet hit the floor with a bound. She had heard that sound once more. It was the drum of an airplane motor. She judged by the sound that it was circling for a landing, perhaps on their little lake. How wonderful! Was it their friend, the young aviator? Had he come for them? Her blood raced.
“Mary!” she fairly screamed. “Wake up! An airplane! And it’s going to land. It’s landing right now.”
They jumped into their clothes and were out on the cabin steps just in time to see the beautiful blue and gray airplane, graceful as any wild fowl, circle low to a perfect landing.
With mad scurrying, wild ducks and geese were off the water and away on the wing, leaving the intruders to the perfect quiet of a glorious autumn morning.
A short time later they were all at the water’s edge, Florence, Mary, Mark, Bill, and Dave. The hydroplane had been anchored. Three men had just put off in a small boat.
“Hello, there,” one of them shouted. “How’s the chances for sourdough pancakes and coffee?” It was Speed Samson.
“Fine!” Florence laughed. “Plate of hots coming up.”
“This is not to be our trip.” There was a note of disappointment in Florence’s tone as she murmured these words to Mary. “He’s got a hunting party. Probably going after moose or grizzly bears.” Nevertheless, she was ready enough to offer to the party the true hospitality of the north. Soon their plates were piled high with cakes, their cups steaming with fragrant brown coffee.
As Florence sat talking to them, one of the men, all rigged out in hunting belt filled with shells, riding breeches and high boots, seemed familiar to her. Who was he? For the life of her, she could not think.