“I doubt it. Besides, they wouldn’t be looking for it. No one is ever stranded here.
“Speaking of fire,” mused Tillie, returning to the old subject, “Daddy Red Johnson used to keep a few sticks in the upper corner.
“Here they are!” she cried as her hand searched the corner.
“Everybody liked Daddy Red Johnson.” There were tears in her voice. “He was a good man. Nobody would touch his things, not even after he was dead.
“He always kept a box of matches right down here.” Her hand groped for a moment. Then such a shout of joy!
“Here they are! Saved, Florence!”
With trembling fingers she drew out a safety match and struck it on the box. It flared out cheerily, dispelling the dark.
“Come on!” she cried. “We’ll carry this shanty to the beach. We’ll build a roaring fire before it and be all warm and dry before you know it.”
As they tumbled out of the shanty, then tipped it over, something fell to the ground with a thud. It was a short handled axe.
“I forgot the axe,” said Tillie, tucking it under her arm. “He used that for cutting his hole through the ice, Daddy Red Johnson did. Shouldn’t wonder if his fish line was here, too.”