On this particular afternoon, every place seemed taken. Gee's Point, of course, but also the seat by the river edge, and the almost unscalable rocks, and the grey stones that lie about the way to Battery Knox.
"Never mind," Rose said. "I am not tired. I would just as leave walk."
"Tired! You? No," said Mr. Bouché; "you are the most rested creature that ever lived. But I am a lazy fellow, and I want a comfortable place, where you can lecture me."
"Upon your laziness?"
"Upon what you will. I need it all round."
"There will not be time for an all-round lecture before parade."
"Bother parade!" said Mr. Bouché. "Why need you remind a fellow of parade, just when he's happy? Here—come this way. Now we can dive through these bushes—look out for your dress, Miss Rose!—and we can sit on the rock and be out of the way of all the spoons. And Catkins himself couldn't find us."
Laughing at him, guarding her dress, following through the tangle like a true fresh-air girl, Rose presently forgot everything in the loveliness that was all about. Behind them, trees and bushes were both shade and screen; but in front there was only rock, river, and hill. The grey ledge on which they stood took a sudden dip almost at their feet, and went down, down, sheer and smooth, with little to break the line till it ended in a low fringe of riverside bushes. And the stream itself, curling rapidly round Gee's Point, went in full flow through the broadening channel towards Anthony's Nose and the "Race." One or two sailing vessels beat up against the breeze; from under the fringe of bushes came the measured dip of oars. The east-side hills, with their wavy outline, caught the full glory of the sinking sun.
"Oh, how beautiful!" Rose cried.
"Yes!" said Mr. Bouché, who had been eyeing the girl much as she studied the landscape; "just what I was thinking."