Three Little Cousins

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"No, but I said I would go over to the Whartons'. I meant to go when I told her, so maybe she thinks I am there and thought there was no need for her to stay in. She goes somewhere every afternoon anyhow, so I fancy she hasn't come for me, after all, though I'd rather not see her."

However this was not to be avoided, for Luella had caught sight of Mary and was about to bear down upon her when her attention was distracted by a friend who hailed her and in the meantime Mary slipped out of sight. "That was Mary Reid as sure as shootin'," said Luella to Granville.

"I guess not," he replied. "What would she be doing over here?"

"I cal'lated she'd gone to Whartons'," said Luella, pinching her under lip thoughtfully as she looked down the road.

"Maybe she did go and they've fetched her over in their launch."

Luella "cal'lated" that was just the way of it, and gave herself no further uneasiness, so Mary escaped by plunging down the bank and skirting the shore till she reached the spot where the boat lay.

"I'll row you over to Jones's Island, if you'd like to go. 'Tain't but a little way. There's lots of strawberries there," the boy said.

This was a temptation Mary considered. The afternoon was but half gone; the evenings were long, and the sailing party would not return before sunset. They enjoyed most of all the coming home when sea and sky were a glory of color and light. It would be a delightful way to pass the remainder of the afternoon, and to carry home a lot of berries for supper would be an excuse to Luella for her long absence. "What will we get the berries in?" she asked Ellis, when her thoughts had traveled thus far.

"I'll run up to the store and get some of those little empty fruit boxes; Jim'll give 'em to me. I saw a pile of 'em lying outside. You wait here." So Mary waited. If it should be discovered that she had gone off with Ellis in the Leona, she would at least have the berries as an evidence of what they had gone for. Mary was getting more and more crafty.

The end of it all was that they did row over to Jones's Island. A barren looking, uninhabited spot it seemed from a distance. Barren of trees it was, but when one once reached it there were great patches of strawberries, clumps of wild roses and bayberry bushes, pinky-white clover, deliciously sweet, tiny wild white violets and many other lovely things. Then, too, it was the haunt of birds which, undisturbed, had built their nests there year after year.