"Nearly a hundred years ago, wasn't it, they lived here and made counterfeit money and drew silly folks in to buy it of them? When I hear the rocks all over this island sounding hollow like muffled drumming under our feet, I scare myself thinking that gang may be hid hereabouts yet and may come and peep into the tent some night."
"Behind them all the army of bones they drowned in Magog watther or buried in the island," laughed Adam. "It's not for a few old ghosts we'd take up our pans and kettles and move out of the Gairden of Eden. I'll keep you safe from the counterfeiters, my darling, never fear."
"You said heaven speed that sail yonder; but the man has taken it down and is rowing in here."
"Then he's an impudent loon. Who asked him?"
"The sight of our tent, very likely. And maybe it will be some friend of ours, stopping at the Magog House. He wears a white helmet-hat; and isn't that a yachting-suit of white flannel?"
"He comes clothed as an angel of light," said Adam.
They both watched the figure and the boat growing larger in perspective. Features formed in the blur under the rower's hat; his individuality sprung suddenly from a shape which a moment ago might have been any man's.
"Oh, Adam, it will be Louis Satanette from Toronto," exclaimed Eva.
"And what's a Toronto man doing away up on Lake Magog?"
"What will a Glasgow man be doing away off here on Lake Magog?"