“So that’s it,” said Ruth.
“There is a great deal more that remains to be explained,” said the little man. “I fancy I shall find it all recorded here.” He patted a great heap of books and papers which he had collected from one corner of the room. “If you young folks wish to come out to Witches Cove rather late in the afternoon, I am quite sure I shall have a lot to tell. Like to come?”
“Would we!” said Ruth.
“Try us,” said Betty, standing on tiptoes in her excitement.
“That’s settled, then. Come in the Flyaway at dusk. I’m sure the three gray witches will be there to greet you. So will I, and my two black cats.”
“It’s a pity,” he said a little later as he stood by the great heap of silks that lay on the dock ready to be transported to the customs house, “that I can’t permit each one of you to select a wardrobe from among these beautiful creations, but the law wouldn’t permit that.”
As their eyes rested on the broken bundles from which rich garments of rare beauty shone through, they felt that he spoke the truth.
That evening, just as the shadows had turned the dark green waters of Witches Cove to pitchy black, the three girls, Ruth, Pearl and Betty, rode into that little natural harbor of many mysteries. Having dropped anchor, they rowed Ruth’s punt silently to the rocky shore, then mounted the rugged natural stairway to the cabin that crowned the crest.
A curious light, flickering and dancing, now waving, now glowing bright, played hide and seek through the cabin’s two small windows. A driftwood fire was burning in the large room of the place.
Before this fire, on the skin of some great bear whose grinning white teeth seemed ready to devour them, sat the little man. On either side of the hearth the two black cats sat blinking. Before him was a heap of papers and a thick black book.