“So are we,” Bob shouted. The plane made secure, they raced around the curve, across the wide, sloping lawn, up the high stairs, and into the living-room.
“There’s basins outside to wash up,” Mrs. Fenton told them, and soon they were splashing the cold water over their faces, and lathering their hands with the cake of home-made soap.
“Well, you lads get a good look at Vermont?” Mr. Fenton joined them at his own basin. He too was tall and slender, with kindly grey eyes, and a broad smile. Although they had never seen him before until their arrival twenty-four hours earlier, they both liked him enormously.
“Corking. She’s some state, Uncle Norman!” Bob answered from behind the roller towel.
“She’s got a lot of her under water,” Jim added.
“Expect you’d like some of that in Texas.”
“Surely could use it. Cracky, some of those hot spots would seep it up like a sponge.”
“We could spare a good deal of it,” Mr. Fenton told them. “Especially when it’s high.”
“Does it get much higher than it is now?” Jim asked.
“It has swelled up fifteen feet more, then it does some flooding, but that doesn’t happen often, not so far north, but we get plenty. Well, come on in. Hope you didn’t leave your appetites in the sky.”