“Shall we tell her?” Tillie asked in a low tone as she and Florence walked down the little dock half an hour later.
“I don’t know. Not just yet.” Florence’s face took on a puzzled look. “If that trunk has such wandering ways, perhaps it’s safer where it is. Does anyone go to that hunting shack?”
“Not this time of year.”
“And no one besides us knows where the trunk is, and we won’t tell.”
“Cross my heart!”
“See you this afternoon,” Tillie added. “We’re going fishing.”
“Are we?”
“You know it! Got to work this forenoon. Can go after dinner. And boy! Will there be fishing!
“You know,” she added with all the wisdom of an old timer, “after a three days’ storm is the very best time to fish. When it is sunny and still, the fish lay round and get lazy; too lazy to eat. A storm stirs ’em up. Watch ’em bite this P. M. So long!” She went skipping away.