“What a strange request!” Florence thought. “One would suppose that she feared something. And there is nothing to fear. The island channels are safe and the bay is calm.”
“I’d be delighted to go,” she said simply.
This did not express the exact truth. There was that about the simple request that frightened her. What made it worse, she had seen, as in a flash of thought, the two pistols hanging over the strange one’s bed.
“Very well,” said the mystery lady. “Get your coat. We will go at once.”
Since Florence knew that Petite Jeanne was not afraid to be alone as long as her bear was with her, she hurried to the cabin, told Jeanne of her intentions, drew on a warm sweater, and accompanied the strange visitor to her boat.
Without a word, the lady of the island pushed her slight craft off, then taking up her oars, headed toward the far side of the bay.
“What island?” Florence asked herself.
There were four islands; three small, one large. The nearest small one was not inhabited. She and Jeanne had gone there once to enjoy their evening meal. There was a camping place in a narrow clearing at the center. The remainder of the island was heavily forested with birch and cedar.
On another small island was a single summer cottage, a rather large and pretentious affair with a dock and boathouse.
The large one, stretching away for miles in either direction, was dotted with summer homes.