Shading her eyes, Florence followed the younger girl’s gaze, then said with a slow tone of assurance, “It’s a boat, a small black boat adrift. Some ship, or perhaps only a schooner, has lost her lifeboat. We’ll take it in tow, tie it up over at the wreck.”
The small black boat was soon tied behind their own. Florence’s strong arms did double duty as she covered the remaining distance to the wreck.
Greta had climbed on board the wreck, Florence had finished tying up her own boat and was giving her attention to the small black tramp, when she noted something of mild interest. In the bottom of that boat was water two or three inches deep, from a rain, perhaps. Floating on the surface of that water was a small square of paper.
“Might give some clue,” she thought as she put out a hand.
Once she had spread the paper on the boat’s seat, her lips parted in surprise.
“Greta!” she cried, “Greta! Come here. See what I have found!”
When Greta arrived all she saw was a sheet of water-soaked paper. In the center of that paper, done with a purple pencil, badly blurred but still quite easily read, were four words:
“A BARREL OF GOLD.”
“Isn’t that strange!” Florence exclaimed. “Here we’ve been dreaming in a silly sort of way about a barrel of gold. And now, here it is, all written out by a stranger!”
“Perhaps Jeanne wrote it,” Greta suggested.