“Surprise! Haven’t you unwrapped it?”
“No. Why should I? That would spoil my fun.”
Florence looked at this slim girl in overalls, and smiled. “You surely are an unusual child!”
“He came back next day.” Meg ignored this last. “He made Snowball dive down and look for his package. He didn’t find it. The man was angry. His face got blacker than ever, and how his eyes snapped! An ugly red scar showed on his chin. Then I laughed, and he chased me.
“I dropped into the water and came up where there is a hole like a sea grotto. I watched him until he went away. He never came back. So now this is mine!” Pride of ownership was in her voice.
“But ought you not to open the package? It may have been stolen. It may contain valuables, watches, diamonds, pearls.” Florence was thinking of the lost necklace.
“Ought!” Meg’s face was twisted into a contemptuous frown. “Ought! That’s a landlubber’s word. You never hear it on a ship. Many things must be done—hatch battened down, boilers stoked, bells rung. Lots of things must be done. But nothing merely ought to be done. No! No! I want to save it for my birthday. And I shall!”
At that she snapped the cabinet door shut, then led the way out of her stateroom.
Ten minutes later Florence was on the dark winding path on her way home.
“What an unusual child!” she thought. And again, “I wonder who that man could be? What does that packet contain?”