"I'm so glad," Anstice said cheerfully, "because I'm getting to like you very much, Georgie, and I'm anxious that every one else about here should like you too."
"Everybody hates us," said Georgie carelessly; and then she ran on to join her sister.
Two hours later, a happy little party was established on the borders of the lake. Ruffie lay in a nest of cushions under the shade of the acacia tree. Josie and Georgie had pulled the boat out, and as it was tightly moored to its post, Anstice allowed them to get into it, but she had prohibited them from having the oars in the boat, and there had been at first a great commotion over that. Anstice looked at them with a twinkle in her eye.
"I know how you would be tempted," she said, "and I'm going to save you from temptation, if I can. When I would be deep in my story, one pair of hands might softly steal up and unfasten the painter, the other pair of hands would slip the oars over into the water, and away you would go, laughing at my helplessness. I should have helped you to disobey your father."
This was so exactly in accordance with the children's intention, that they stared at her in angry dismay.
"You're a kind of witch," muttered Josie, giving up the argument.
"No, but I'm not a fool," said Anstice, "and when I was a little girl, I was rather like you, a bit of a tomboy. I had a boy chum and we were up to every kind of mischief. That's why I shan't be hard upon you. Because I understand and remember."
"And I can't do nothing, never at all!" exclaimed Ruffie plaintively.
"Well now, we'll settle down, and read about some children who did a good deal."
The story-book proved enchanting. It was an old-fashioned book, an allegory of children who started on a pilgrimage somewhat after the style of "Pilgrim's Progress." As the children had never seen or read the latter book, the idea was quite a fresh one to them.