“Those are nice boys,” remarked Miss Rindy with satisfaction. “It’s good to get among that kind again. I knew some of the same sort in France, like that Tom Clayton, always thinking of some one besides himself. I believe of the two I like him the best.” At which remark Ellen had a small feeling of resentment, although she couldn’t have told why.
The two young men were quite ready to accept the invitation to go on the trip to Goose Island. “We shall have supper there,” Ellen announced. “We’ll build a fire; then we can make coffee, fry bacon, and make those scrumptious sandwiches,—lettuce, mayonnaise, and the hot bacon between. You’ll go, of course. Cousin Rindy?”
“Indeed I will not. You know I don’t hanker after those motor-boat trips. I had enough of the water when I crossed the seas, and I only go now when I have to. No, please count me out. Who all are going?”
“The Truesdell girls, their brother Alvin, and a young married cousin with her brother, a boy about Cassie’s age. There will be ten in all, eleven if you will go.”
“No, I’ll have a nice peaceful time at home, with no young, skittish frivolers about.” Miss Rindy gave her twisted smile.
“Now, Cousin Rindy,” Ellen protested, “you know you don’t consider us skittish and frivolous, though we may be young.”
“I’m not saying what I consider, though I do say that if you are going to keep up this everlasting gadding around you’ll not be fit for much of anything by the time we get ready to leave, and won’t be in any trim for the winter.”
“Well, to-morrow will see about the last of our frolics,” said Mabel regretfully, “for Alvin leaves the day after, and there’s no one to run the boat, which will be stored for the winter. The Truesdells will be going next week, and by Labor Day there’ll be scarcely any one left.”
“And when do those two boys go? They have a motor-boat, haven’t they?”
“Yes, a small one. I don’t know how long they will stay. As long as they can keep warm, they said. There is no chimney in that place.”