“How strange! How fascinating! What stillness!” Petite Jeanne gripped her companion’s arm hard. “Here are silence, starlight, moonlight, grass beneath one’s feet and the gleam of distant water in our eyes.”
“Yes.” Florence’s tone was low like the deep notes of a cello. “And only a short time ago, perhaps a year ago, the waters of the lake lay ten feet deep at the very spot on which we stand. Such is the wondrous achievement of man when inspired by a desire to provide a quiet place for a weary multitude. This is ‘made land’ a park in the making. Great squares of limestone were dumped in the lake. With these as a barrier to hold back the onrush of the lake waters, men have hauled in sand, clay, ashes, all the refuse of a great city. Nature has breathed upon that ugly pile of debris. The sun has caressed it, the wind smoothed it, rain beat down upon it, birds brought seeds, and now we have soft earth, grass, flowers, a place of beauty and quiet peace.”
The place they had entered is strange. A great city, finding itself cramped for breathing space, has reached out a mighty hand to snatch land from the bottom of the lake. Thirty blocks in length, as large as an ordinary farm, this space promises to become, in the near future, a place of joy forever.
At the time of our story it was half a field of tangled grass and half a junk pile. As the two girls wandered on they found themselves flanked on one side by a tumbled line of gigantic man-made boulders and on the other by a curious jumble of waste. Steel barrels, half rusted away, lay among piles of cement blocks and broken plaster.
“Come,” said Florence, “let us go out upon the rocks.”
A moment of unsteady leaping from spot to spot, and they sat looking out on a band of gold painted across the waters by the moon.
“How still it is!” Jeanne whispered. “After all the shouting of the throng, I feel that I may have gone suddenly deaf.”
“It is still,” Florence replied. “No one here. Not a soul. Only you and I, the moon and the night.”
And yet, even as she spoke, a sudden chill gripped her heart. She had caught a sound. Someone was among the rocks close at hand; there could be no mistaking that. Who could it be?
Her heart misgave her. Had she committed a dangerous blunder? She had been here before, but never at night. The city, with all its perils, its evil ones, was but a few steps away. As she listened she even now caught indistinctly the murmur of it. Someone was among the rocks. He might be advancing. Who could it be, at this hour of the night?