“If Petite Jeanne knew there were gypsies in this forest she would be greatly disturbed,” Florence said to herself with a sigh.
“After all, what’s the good of telling her?” was her conclusion of the matter. “Gypsies are ever on the move. We will see nothing more of them.” In this she was wrong.
She did not tell Jeanne. Together they reveled in a feast of blueberry muffins, wild honey and caramel buns.
After Jeanne had gone through her wild dance once more, they trudged back to camp through the sweet-smelling forest while the sunset turned the woodland trail to a path of gleaming gold.
CHAPTER VI
HAUNTING MELODY
That evening Florence received a shock. The night before they had, through no purpose of their own, been thrown for an hour or two into the company of the young recluse who lived in a windowless cabin on a shadowy island. Since this person very evidently wished to be alone, Florence had not expected to see her again. Imagine her surprise, therefore, when, on stepping to the cabin door for a good-night salute to the stars, she found the lady standing there, motionless and somber as any nocturnal shadow, on their own little dock.
“I—I beg your pardon,” the mysterious one spoke. “So this is where you live? How very nice!
“But I didn’t come to make a call. I came for a favor,” she hastened to assure the astonished Florence.
“You were very kind to us last night.” Florence tried to conceal her astonishment. “We will do what we can.”
“It is but a little thing. I wish to visit an island across the bay. It is not far. Half an hour’s row. I do not wish to go alone. Will you be so kind as to accompany me?”