The girls watched her silently as she flitted back and forth, and she sang on, unconscious of her audience. She was singing a boat song which the men chant as they row home at the close of day. The pathos in the woman's voice was so exquisite, its notes so true, that Madge's blue eyes filled with tears. None of the four friends stirred until the song was over, and the girl in her faded calico dress and bare feet had disappeared into the cabin of the boat.
"We call those boats shanty boats down in Virginia," Eleanor said; "I suppose because the little cabin on the deck of the canal boat looks so like a shanty."
"People live on those shanty boats," announced Madge.
"Yes, we have noticed it, my dear girl," Phil responded dryly. But there was a question in her eyes as she looked at Madge.
"Shanty boats do not look exactly like house-boats," went on Madge speculatively.
"I should say not," returned Phil. "There is considerable difference."
"But they might be made to look more like them. Don't you believe so?"
Phil nodded.
"They are awfully dirty," was dainty Lillian's sole comment.
"Soap and water, child, is a sure cure for dirt," replied Madge, still in a brown study. Then she sprang to tier feet and almost ran out of the little park, nearly to the edge of the canal. Her friends followed her. There was no doubt that Madge had an idea.