“There is a phantom fisherman off the end of Edward’s Island,” Jeanne murmured, half talking to herself.
“A fisherman, but no phantom,” Dave insisted.
“It is our privilege in this life,” said Jeanne, “to have what we want, provided we tread on no one’s toes. I want a phantom fisherman, so I shall have one. You want a real fisherman. You may have him, too. Neither of us wishes any fish, so what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dave agreed.
“One thing is important,” Florence insisted. “Are those fires on the island being set?”
“No,” said Dave.
“But I’ve been told they were,” insisted his cousin. “Twice I’ve heard it.”
“Who told you?”
“I—I don’t know. That’s the queer part.” She went on to tell of the strange voice.
“Probably some ignorant fisherman talking nonsense,” was Dave’s verdict. “They cling to these crags trying to eke out a living until they get a little cracked in the head.”