Part 10 (2/2)
”This ought to be called the 'disappearing' land,” suggested Hazel.
”I was sure that little canoe was directly in front of us, but now it is out of sight.”
”Maybe that is the 'Haunt Girl of Fern Island,'” ventured Cora with a laugh. ”I got a pretty good look at her, and I am willing to say she looked neither like a summer girl nor a winter girl--that is, one who might live here the year around. But just what sort of girl she might be I shouldn't like to speculate. Her hair got loose as she hurried, and she reminded me of some wild water bird.”
”Be careful getting out,” Belle cautioned Bess. ”This new boat is new to slipperiness.”
”Oh, I will get hold of a tree branch,” Bess replied. ”Then, if the boat drifts out, I can swing to safety.”
All were ash.o.r.e but Bess, and as such things often happen when they are looked for, the Petrel did careen from the waves of a pa.s.sing launch, and just as Bess grasped an overhead willow branch, the boat swung out and she sprang in. Everybody laughed, but Bess lost her breath, a condition she disliked because it always added to the deep color of her plump cheeks.
”There!” cried Belle. ”Didn't I tell you?”
”I wish that next time, Twin, you would leave me to guess!”
exclaimed the other twin, rather pettishly.
”Isn't this perfectly delightful!” exclaimed Hazel, running over the soft earth where ferns were matted, and wild flowers grew tangled in their efforts for freedom. ”I never saw such dainty little flowers!
Oh! they are sabatial I have seen them in Ma.s.sachusetts,” and she fell to gathering the small pink blooms that rival the wild rose in shade and perfume.
”Here are the Maiden Hair ferns,” called Cora. ”No wonder they call this Fern Island.”
”Let us see how many varieties of fern we can gather,” suggested Belle. ”I have ferns pressed since last year, and they look so pretty on picture mats.”
At this the girls became interested in the number of ferns gatherable. Belle went one way, Bess another, and so on, until each had to call to make another hear her.
Cora ran along fearlessly. She was diving very deep into the ferny woods, and she was intent on coming out first, if it were only in a race to get ferns.
Suddenly she stopped!
What was that sound?
Surely it was some one running, and it was none of the girls!
Standing erect, listening with her nerves as well as with her ears, Cora waited. That running or rustling through the leaves was very close by. Should she call the girls?
But before she could answer herself, she saw something dart across a big rock that was caressed by a great maple tree that grew over it.
”Oh!” she screamed involuntarily. Then she saw what it was. A man, a wild looking man, with long hair and a bushy beard.
He had stopped just long enough to look in the direction of Cora.
She saw him distinctly. Oh! if he should run toward Bess or Belle!
Hazel would not be so easily alarmed but surely this was a wild man if ever there was such a creature.
”That is the ghost of Fern Island,” Cora concluded. ”I must get back to the girls.”
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