The Slipper Point Mystery | Page 7

to be
admitted to this precious secret.
They beached the canoe, still talking busily about the morrow's plans,
and together hauled it up in the sea-grass and turned it bottom upward.
And then Sally prepared to take her departure. But after she had said
good-bye, she still lingered uncertainly, as if she had something else on
her mind. It was only when she had turned to walk away across the
beach, that she suddenly wheeled and ran up to Doris once more.
"I - I want to tell you something," she hesitated. "I - perhaps - sometime
I 'll tell you more, but - the secret - Genevieve's and mine - is up on
Slipper Point!"
And before Doris could reply, she was gone, racing away along the
darkening sand.

CHAPTER III
SALLY CAPITULATES
IT was the beginning of a close friendship. For more than a week
thereafter, the girls were constantly together. They met every morning
by appointment at the hotel dock, where Sally always rowed up in "45,"
and Genevieve never failed to be the third member of the party. The
canoe was quite neglected, except occasionally, in the evening, when
Doris and Sally alone paddled about in her for a short time before
sunset, or just after. Sally introduced Doris to every spot on the river,
every shady bay and inlet or creek that was of the slightest interest.
They explored the deserted mill, gathered immense quantities of
water-lilies in Cranberry Creek, penetrated for several miles up the
windings of the larger creek that was the source of the river, camped
and picnicked for the day on the island, and paddled barefooted all one
afternoon in the rippling water across its golden bar.
Beside that, they deserted the boat one day and walked to the ocean and

back, through the scented aisles of an interminable pine forest. On the
ocean beach they explored the wreck of a schooner cast up on the sand
in the storm of a past winter, and played hide-and-seek with Genevieve
among the billowy dunes. But in all this time neither had once
mentioned the subject of the secret on Slipper Point. Doris, though
consumed with impatient curiosity, was politely waiting for Sally to
make any further disclosures she might choose, and Sally was waiting
for - she knew not quite what! But had she realized it, she would have
known she was waiting for some final proof that her confidence in her
new friend was not misplaced.
Not even yet was she absolutely certain that Doris was as utterly
friendly as she seemed. Though she scarcely acknowledged it to herself,
she was dreading and fearing that this new, absorbing friendship could
not last. When the summer had advanced and there were more
companions of Doris's own kind in Manituck, it would all come to an
end. She would be forgotten or neglected, or, perhaps even snubbed for
more suitable acquaintances. How could it be otherwise? And how
could she disclose her most precious secret to one who might later
forsake her and even impart it to some one else? No, she would wait.
In the meantime, while Doris was growing rosy and brown in the
healthful outdoor life she was leading with Sally, Sally herself was
imbibing new ideas and thoughts and interests in long, ecstatic draughts.
Chief among all these were the books - the wonderful books and
magazines that Doris had brought with her in a seemingly endless
amount. Sometimes Doris could scarcely extract a word from Sally
during a whole long morning or afternoon, so deeply absorbed was she
in some volume loaned her by her obliging friend. And Doris also
knew that Sally sat up many a night, devouring by candle-light the
book she wanted to return next day - so that she might promptly replace
it by another!
One thing puzzled Doris, - the curious choice of books that seemed to
appeal to Sally. She read them all with equal avidity and appeared to
enjoy them all at the time, but some she returned to for a second
reading, and one in particular she demanded again and again. Doris's

own choice lay in the direction of Miss Alcott's works and "Little Lord
Fauntleroy" and her favorites among Dickens. Sally took these all in
with the rest, but she borrowed a second time the books of a more
adventurous type, and to Doris's constant wonder, declared Stevenson's
"Treasure Island" to be her favorite among them all. So frequently did
she borrow this, that Doris finally gave her the book for her own, much
to Sally's amazement and delight.
"Why do you like 'Treasure Island' best?" Doris asked her point-blank,
one day. Sally's manner immediately grew a trifle reserved.
"Because - because," she stammered, "it is like - like something