by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XVII FROM OUT THE PAST
In the meantime, Jeanne, having returned from her little voyage ofdiscovery on Isle Royale, was learning something of life as it wentforward at Chippewa Harbor. Here, on the shores of a little cove, HolgarCarlson, a sturdy Scandinavian fisherman, had his home. There were fourchildren; two girls, Violet and Vivian, about the same age as Jeanne, andtwo small boys. From November until April no boats visit the island. Itwould be difficult to picture a more completely isolated spot. And yetViolet and Vivian, who were to be Jeanne's companions, were neverlonesome. They had their duties and their special interests which keptthem quite fully employed. And, had they but known it, the coming ofJeanne meant mystery and unusual discoveries.
"Discovery." Ah, yes, to Vivian, the younger and more active of the twosisters, this was one grand word. On this unusual island she had mademany a discovery.
"This," she was saying to Jeanne with the air of one about to displayrich treasures, "is our curiosity shop. Not everyone who comes toChippewa Harbor gets a peek in here."
After removing a heavy padlock she swung wide a massive door of varnishedlogs.
"You see," she explained as Jeanne's eyes wandered from one article toanother displayed on the shelves of the narrow room, "each article herehas something to do with the history of Isle Royale."
"Only look!" Jeanne exclaimed. "Arrowheads and spear points of copper! Agun--such an old looking one! A pistol, too, and a brass cannon. Somevery queer axes! Did you find them all by yourself?" she asked insurprise.
"Oh, my, no!" Vivian laughed. "They come from all over the island.Fishermen are constantly finding things. Some were found where long lostvillages have been, or around deserted mines. Then, too, some were takenup in nets."
"In nets?" Jeanne's voice showed astonishment.
"You'd be surprised!" Vivian's face glowed. She had something trulyinteresting to tell.
"We set our nets close to the lake bottom. Sometimes the water is deep,sometimes shallow, but always the net is on the bottom. Storms come andbring things rolling in. The waves work heavy objects over our nets. If anet is strong enough, when it is lifted, up they come.
"And not so easily either!" she amended. "Sometimes it takes a lot ofpulling and hauling. Not so fine when it's freezing on shore and snow isblowing in your eyes. If you get a log in your net, all water soaked, andso long you never see both ends of it if you work for an hour, then thenet slips from your half-frozen fingers, and it's just too bad! The netis gone forever.
"Look." She put a hand on some hard mass that rested on the lower shelf."We brought that up in our net."
"What is it?" Jeanne asked.
"Lift it." Vivian smiled.
Lightly Jeanne grasped it. Then she let out a low exclamation. "Whew! Howheavy!"
"Eighty pounds," said Vivian, not without a show of pride. "Solid copper.
"You see," she went on, allowing her eyes to sweep the place, "it is justthis that has made me realize that history and geography are not justdull things to be studied and forgotten. When father brought in that massof copper, I wanted to know all about it, how it got there and all that.
"Well," she sighed, "I didn't find out everything, because no one seemsto know whether it was put in its present form by the grinding ofglaciers or by the heat of a volcano. I did find out a great deal,though.
"Then," she hurried on, "one day while I was hoeing in our garden I foundthis." She held up a copper spear point. "It belonged to the time whenIndians roamed the island, building huge fires; then cracking away therocks, they uncovered copper. I read all I could about that.
"Then--" she caught her breath. "Then Mr. Tolman over at Rock Harbor gaveme this." She held up a curious sort of pistol. "They called it apepper-box. It is more than a hundred years old. Perhaps it belongs tofur-trading days, perhaps to the beginning of the white copper-hunter.Anyway, it took me along in my study. And--"
"And the first thing you knew," Jeanne laughed, "history and geographyhad come alive for you."
"Yes, that's it!" Vivian smiled her appreciation.
"But look!" Jeanne exclaimed. "What's this? And where did it come from?Looks as if it had been at the bottom of the sea for a hundred years."
"Not quite a hundred years perhaps," Vivian said slowly, "and not at thebottom of the ocean; only Lake Superior. It's an old-fashionedbarrel-churn, and we caught it in a net."
"How very strange!" Jeanne examined it closely. "It's all screwed uptight."
"Yes," said Vivian, "the fastenings are all corroded. You couldn't openit without tearing it up, I guess. It's empty." She tapped it with theancient pistol butt, and it gave forth a hollow sound. "So what's the useof destroying a fine relic just to get a smell of sour buttermilk fiftyor more years old?" She laughed a merry laugh.
"But you got it in a net at the bottom of the lake?" Jeanne's face wore apuzzled look.
"About fifty feet down."
"If it's full of air it would float," Jeanne reasoned, "so it can't bequite empty."
"Lift it. Shake it," Vivian invited.
Jeanne complied. "That's queer!" she murmured after shaking the smallcopper-bound barrel-churn vigorously. "It's heavy enough to sink, yet it_does_ appear to be empty."
As Jeanne lay in her tiny chamber that night with the distant roar of oldSuperior in her ears, she found herself confronted with two mysteries.One was intriguing, the other rather startling and perhaps terrible. Thefirst was the mystery of the unopened churn, the other that of thosefigures and letters with a circle, D.X.123.