Then came the moment when the last balsam tree toppled into the water.
“Come on,” he grabbed Florence’s arm. “We gotta get out o’ here quick.”
They did get out quick.
When at last Florence reached her skiff where Katie and Indian John were anxiously waiting, to her astonishment she saw the strange boy go racing away.
“Wait!” she called. “Come back.”
Did he hear? It seemed he must. But he raced straight on.
“We’ll just row out a little where the heat is not so bad,” Florence suggested. “Then we’ll wait and see what happens.”
This they did. The moment when the raging furnace reached the water’s edge, then came to a sudden halt, was a glorious one indeed.
Florence was watching with all her eyes when, of a sudden, she seemed to hear oarlocks creaking. At first, looking out over the smoke-clouded water she saw nothing. Then she caught the shadowy outline of a small boat moving out on the water.
“Must be that boy,” she told herself. “But where is he going?”