They had not talked long before Florence discovered the motive behind the lady cop’s interest in Tillie.
Tillie had lived here all her life. She knew every nook and cranny of the islands, points and bays. More than that, she knew a great deal about the inhabitants of Gamblers’ Island and Erie Point. It was plain to see that this information was given out freely enough, and would prove of great service to the lady cop in her future movements.
But Miss Weightman was not, as you may have learned, a totally selfish person. A friendship to her was never one-sided.
There was born in that strange cabin, on that rainy afternoon, a loyal little club of three friends: the lady cop, Florence and Tillie, which was to lead to many a secret meeting, for the most part in this very cabin, and many an undertaking which in the end was to result in benefit to all.
CHAPTER XIII
CHARMED DAYS
For Florence, the days that followed were filled with glorious adventure. The wind, the sun, the forest and the water of that north country have moods for every hour. Florence, the strong, healthy, joyous child of nature, had a mood to match each change.
There were days when sky and water were gray, and the forest full of shadows. At such times Florence wandered far into the forest’s depths to sit and wonder about many things. What was this world she lived in? Who had created it? What were these creatures called human beings that had been allowed to wander for a time upon its surface? Why were they not like horses and dogs and monkeys? Or were they very different from these, after all?
“Yes, yes!” she would cry out to the trees that appeared to ask the questions. “They are different! They think! Think! Do you think, you trees? Do you think?” she would demand of a whisking chipmunk. The answer never came except in that still small voice that was never far away. That voice whispered, “Only men think.”
When the sky cleared and the waters sparkled, she was another person. No problems came to her then. Enough that she was alive; that all the world lay spread out before her. Then all her being called for action.
And to Florence, as long as water was near, action meant oars and a boat. To her the very touch of an oar, the lift and fall of a tossing wave, imparted a magic charm. Her splendid muscles responded to the touch of water on the tips of her oars as the robin responds to the first beam of the morning sun.