“And we, Meg and me, we’ll move on. Fate will point his finger and we’ll move.
“Ah, well, that’s life for most of us. Sooner or later Fate points and we move. He’s a traffic cop, is Fate. We come to a pause. He blows his whistle, he waves his arm. We move or he moves us.
“And, after all,” she heaved a deep sigh that was more than half filled with contentment, “who’d object to that? Who wants to sit and grow roots like stupid little cottonwood trees?”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BLACK PACKET
“Meg, show Florence your stateroom.” Aunt Bobby rose after her soliloquy. “Mine’s more plain-like,” she apologized. “The men set a heap of store on Meg, so they took what was the stateroom of the captain in the balmy days of that old ship and set it up for Meg, right here on the island.
“It’s all there, walls and cabinet all done in mahogany and gold, wide berth, and everything grand.”
“It’s not like sleeping on the water with a good hull beneath you.” Meg’s tone was almost sullen. “Just you wait! I’m going back!”
Once inside her stateroom her mood changed. It became evident at once that she was truly proud of this small room with its costly decorations that had come down from the past. Two great lanterns made of beaten bronze hung one at the head and one at the foot of her berth.
“It’s wonderful!” Florence was truly impressed. “But this island, it is a lonely spot. There must be prowlers about.”
“Oh, yes. All the time. Some good ones, some bad.”