But the next morning Joan repeated the story with additional and
convincing detail.
"Sounds of whining and growling woke me," she said, "and I distinctly
heard sniffing under my tent, and the scratching of paws."
"Oh, Timothy! Can it be a porcupine?" exclaimed the Bo'sun's Mate with
distress, forgetting that Sweden was not Canada.
But the girl's voice had sounded to me in quite another key, and looking
up I saw that her father and Sangree were staring at her hard. They,
too, understood that she was in earnest, and had been struck by the
serious note in her voice.
"Rubbish, Joan! You are always dreaming something or other wild," her
father said a little impatiently.
"There's not an animal of any size on the whole island," added Sangree
with a puzzled expression. He never took his eyes from her face.
"But there's nothing to prevent one swimming over," I put in briskly,
for somehow a sense of uneasiness that was not pleasant had woven itself
into the talk and pauses.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129