“Go ’long, chile!” spoke Jennie, scornfully. “It wouldn’t matter to you whose boat it was. Your appreciation of personal property is warped.”
“Nasty thing!” snapped Cora.
“Just so,” returned Jennie. “Come on, Nance. We’ll get a padlock for our boat-chain to-morrow.”
When they had pushed off and were out of hearing of the girls on the dock, Nancy said, admonishingly:
“Why say things to stir them up? It does no good.”
“Oh, fudge! What does it matter? Do you suppose that I care if Grace or Cora ‘have a mad on’ at me? Much!” and Jennie snapped her fingers.
They were pulling out into the river. The sun was already below the hills; but the light was lingering long in the sky and on the water. The chums had an objective point in a little cove across the river, where splendid lilies grew.
The evening boat from Clintondale down the river came in sight and the girls rested on their oars to let it pass. The little waves the small steamer threw off rocked their skiff gently.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Jennie, suddenly. “This skiff is all wet. My feet are soaked.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Nancy. “The water is over my shoes, too.”