“Vivian!” Jeanne suddenly gripped her companion’s arm. “Do you see that ridge?” She pointed away toward the island.
“Yes.”
“Vivian, tomorrow, whether it storms or not, you must go with me to the top of that ridge and down on the other side.”
“To find the treasure told about in the old churn?” Vivian asked.
“Oh, no! No!” Jeanne exclaimed in shocked surprise. “It is something more important than that—far, far more important.
“And yet—” her voice dropped. “I may not tell you about it now, for, after all, it may be just nothing.”
At that, with Vivian lost in a haze of stupefaction, she said with a shudder, “This is too grand—all this beauty of the night, all this surf line power. Come! We must go back.”
And they did go back to the cheery light, the cozy warmth of the fisherman’s home.
In the meantime, in the far-away city Florence was meeting with an experience well calculated to make her believe in witches, fairies, and all manner of fantastic fortune telling as well. She and June Travis had gone to visit the little lady in gray.
Florence had, after a considerable effort, contacted the little lady.