"Thought ye'd come, too, did ye! Well, she's all opened up. You'd best take your father's room--for tonight, anyway. It ain't been disturbed since--hum! The blankets is all right, I guess. There's a bolt on the door--better lock yourself in. Few boats ever touches here, but one _might_ come. I'd hate like thunder to have ye kidnapped--wouldn't want to lose ye so soon. Did you bring along that sheet? Good. I'll leave you the lamp while I fixes up a bunk in Mollie's part of the house for my old bones."
The little room seemed full of her father's presence. An old coat hung behind the door. The little old trunk stood against the wall. On the big box that served for a table, with a mark to keep the place, was a library book. Happily, sleepy Jeanne did not think of looking at the card. If she _had_ looked, she would have learned that the book was long overdue. Thanks to the big clean lake and the wind-swept wharf, there was no dust to show how long the place had been untenanted.
The music of the water rippling under the old dock, how sweet it was. The air that blew in at her open window, how good and how soothing. The bright stars peeping in through the little square seemed such _friendly_ stars. Even the cold stiffness of the brand-new sheet was not sufficiently disturbing to keep the tired little girl awake.
She found her breakfast on the Captain's stove. Just in time, for the fire was out and a bright-eyed chipmunk, perched on the edge of the frying-pan, was nibbling a bit of fried potato. The Captain had disappeared. Jeanne didn't guess that he had purposely fled.
"There's so much to do," said Jeanne, eying the Captain's grimy teakettle, after she had finished her breakfast, "that I don't know where to begin. If I could find my old pink dress--I know what I'll do, I'll _buy_ something and make me a great big apron. Even my everyday clothes are too good for a working lady. But first, I guess I'll clean the room Old Captain slept in. Mollie kept a lot of old stuff that ought to be thrown away. I hope there aren't any rats. And I _must_ remember to mail the letter that I wrote to my grandfather just before I got to Chicago. It's still in my work-box. I think some fresh hay would be nice for the Captain's bunk. There's a lot of long grass on top of the bank--perhaps I can cut some of that and dry it. I used to love to do that. I could make fresh pillows, too. But I _must_ have something to work in."