“How strange!” said Jeanne, charmed with this note of mystery.
“Probably trolling for lake trout,” said the practical Dave. “There’s a reef out there they call ‘Five Foot’ because it comes within five feet of the surface.”
“The Phantom Fisherman,” Jeanne repeated dreamily.
And so, gliding along between narrow rocky islands, they came once more to Tobin’s Landing. Here they meant to spend the night, and perhaps all the next day. There was a suggestion of storm in the air. A storm from the southwest meant fanned flames and added peril to all. Their great command at this moment appeared to be, “Stand by to serve!”
At Tobin’s harbor all was peace. In this snug little bay the wind had gone to rest. As evening came, the water was like glass. Here spruce and balsam, growing down to the very water’s edge, cast dark green shadows, and there, like fairy maidens in filmy dresses, white birches appeared to bend over and look down into the water’s clear depths.
When the gong sounded for the evening meal, savory odors greeted the crew of the Wanderer. Katie’s pasties were all that the heart might desire. The crust melted in one’s mouth and the meat was done to a turn. When it came to her saffron buns, opinion was divided. Jeanne, ever fond of new experiences, pronounced their strange flavor “delicious!” Florence ate them in brave silence, while Dave turned his attention to “good old army bread.”
“Anyway,” Florence said in a low tone, “Katie is a dear, and she’ll be a great help.”
“Yes,” Dave agreed. “And if we’re ever one man short, she can pinch-hit for the best of us.”
As darkness began to fall, weary from the night’s adventure and the day’s toil, Florence sought her berth. But Jeanne, who, like the crickets and katydids, always sang best at night, went on the dock in search of some new and interesting adventure.
She found it in the form of a man with a mass of tangled gray hair and very bright eyes, who sat on the dock, staring dreamily at the moon.