“Lyle, you gypsy, where are you going?” called Miss Gladden.
For answer, she turned and waved her hand with a merry laugh, then ran, fleet-footed as a deer, to the edge of the lake, and unfastening one of the little boats, was in it and rowing out upon the lake as dextrously as a professional oarsman, before those watching her could even guess her intentions.
“Great Cæsar! but that girl can row!” exclaimed Rutherford, with all the enthusiastic admiration of a newly graduated collegian.
“Where is the child going?” asked Houston.
“Probably to the picnic ground,” said Miss Gladden, “but what for, I cannot imagine.”
The sunbonnet was waved saucily in the air, and then instead of steering for the landing place as they expected, the boat suddenly disappeared around a corner of the rocks, in the opposite direction, while there came ringing out on the air, in mocking tones, the words of the old song:
“I saw the boat go ’round the bend.”
No one saw Lyle when she returned, a couple of hours later, and not even Miss Gladden knew that she was in the house until she made her appearance at the dinner table, with a very demure face, exceedingly pink fingers, and wearing an air of deep mystery that no amount of joking could diminish.
After dinner, Lyle made two or three trips across the lake, carrying mysterious baskets and dishes. In one of these journeys she was intercepted by Miss Gladden, who was lying in wait for her, and who, tempted by the delightful aroma, lifted the cover of one of her dishes.
“Strawberries!” she exclaimed, “and wild ones! Where did you get them, Lyle? They are the first I have seen out here.”