“I’ll be back in ten days,” she shouted back as the wreck began to grow small in the distance.
“Will she?” Florence whispered. “I wonder.”
CHAPTER XII
GOLD
Bihari and his gypsy band in their Ship of Joy had scarcely passed from sight around Blake’s Point when the sun went under a cloud and a damp, chill wind came driving in from the north.
“Boo! How cold!” Greta wrapped her sweater tight about her.
With the gay flags down, the hilarious music stilled, the wreck seemed a cold, dull and lifeless place. “Something sinister and threatening about it,” Florence thought.
To Greta she said, “Pack up the things you’ll need for ten days, plenty of warm stockings and the like. We’re going camping on the island. We’ll tramp all over Greenstone Ridge and sleep where night overtakes us.”
“That,” Greta cried, “will be grand! Shall I take my violin?”
“Surely. You might be able to take a few lessons from your mysterious phantom,” Florence laughed as she began packing away eatables that were both light and nourishing.
“There are streams and small lakes,” she murmured half to herself. “We shall have fish to fry, and some berries are ripe, blueberries, raspberries and a sort I have never seen before.