Florence did not think of this. Possible tragedies which can in no way be averted are not worthy of consideration. She thought instead of the monstrous injustice that had been done them.
“Why did they do it?” she asked. “How could they? What if they are rich, we poor? They have no right to override us. What if their boat is a thing of beauty and power, our own an old rowboat? The water does not belong to them.
“And they laughed!” she said aloud.
Jeanne heard and answered, “Yes. They laughed. I wonder why.”
“There are three boats on the bay like that one,” Florence said. “I have seen that many. Perhaps there are more. Which one could it have been?”
The little French girl did not reply.
Then, because she needed her strength for swimming, Florence lapsed into silence.
To an onlooker the outcome of this adventure might have seemed questionable. The water was cold, the distance considerable. To Florence, endowed as she was with splendid strength and great faith, not alone in her own powers but in the Creator’s goodness as well, there was never a question.
Such superb endurance as she displayed! Hand over hand, arm over arm, she measured the yards without one faltering movement. Little wonder, this. Florence regarded her physical powers as a great gift. She thought of herself as the Roman maidens did of old. She was a child of the gods.
So she swam on while the moon looked down upon her and appeared to smile. And the graceful, swaying cedars beckoned. At last, with a sigh of pure joy, she felt her hand grasp the post of a tiny plank dock, and knew that her testing was over.