“Not a trace?”
“Not one.”
“Why then,” exclaimed Florence leaping to her feet, “I invite you all to a ghost hunt. A ghost hunt for a blue god.”
“Anything for a last nighter,” agreed Lucile.
“For this type of ghost hunt,” said Florence, “one needs an ax and two kettles of boiling water.”
“I’ll provide the ax,” volunteered Mark.
“And we the boiling water,” chimed in Marian and Lucile in unison.
It was a strange little procession that stole from the shadow of the O Moo a short time later. Florence led the way. She was profoundly silent. Lucile and Marian followed, each with a tea kettle of boiling water carefully poised at her side. Mark, as a sort of vanguard, brought up the rear with his ax. Now and then Mark let forth a low chuckle.
“Sh!” Marian warned. “You might disturb her serious poise.”
Straight away toward the end of the lagoon Florence led them. Once on the surface of the lagoon her course was scarcely less certain until she had reached a point in the center of the broad, glistening surface.