“Does seem strange,” she mused. “There’s a very high fence all about the place, but of course there must be a gate.”
The next instant the boat grated on the sandy beach and they were all climbing out.
Lucile shivered as she caught sight of a large, low, rambling building which lay well up from the shore.
“What next?” she whispered to herself.
The storm was still rumbling in the west. The sky to the east was clear. Out from the black waters of the lake the moon was rolling. Its light suddenly brightened up the shore. The girls stared about them.
Up from the beach a little way was an affair which resembled an Indian tepee. It was built of boards and covered with birch bark. Its white sides glimmered in the moonlight. Through the shadows of trees and shrubbery they made out a rustic pavilion and beyond that the cottage which was built in rustic fashion as befits a summer residence of a millionaire, although little short of a mansion.
“Wouldn’t you like to see the inside of it?” breathed Florence. “I’ve always wondered what such a place was like.”
“Yes,” whispered Lucile, “but I’d prefer daylight.”
They had been following the child. She had led them as far as a rustic arbor. Built of cedar poles with the bark left on, this presented itself as an inviting place to rest.
“You stay here,” the child whispered. “I’ll come back.”