Mrs. Paxton paused with her foot on the step, and looked back.
"Why, where's Floretta?" she asked.
"In the first barge," cried a voice in reply.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Why, certainly," said the other, "she's with that tall, fine-looking lady from the Merlington. She'll be home before you are."
The second barge was soon filled and on its way. The horses were less fresh than those of the first barge, and seemed determined to lag. Indeed, they required constant urging to keep them from dropping into a slow walk.
"Those other fellows ahead of us started some lively college songs," said a disgusted passenger, "and they're actually out of sight now; but the way these nags are poking I couldn't think of anything to sing that would be slow enough to be appropriate."
And while one barge was going over the road at a lively rate of speed, and the other jogging along at a snail's pace, Floretta, at the hut, was having a most exciting time.
Once inside the place, she had crouched beneath a window to learn, if possible, what the boys were talking about.
She had wanted to remain there when the party had started for the mountain path, and she had been very impatient during the long tramp. She cared nothing for the view, and determined, on the return, to stop, if only for a few moments, at the hut.