“See that lovely white farmhouse up on that hill,” said Betty, pointing toward land. “Doesn’t it look as if there were fairies in those fields, girls?”
“I don’t know about the fairies,” said Babe, “but I love the way the white foam breaks on the green moss. Let’s go to Ireland.”
“Why, we haven’t decided”—chanted four voices together.
“Where we’ll go from Glasgow,” finished Babbie alone. “Well, it doesn’t matter, because mother will have to rest a day or two before we go anywhere. Just think! The poor thing hasn’t been up on deck yet.”
“And while she’s resting,” put in Madeline, “we can explore Glasgow and then, if she’s willing, go down to Ayr. That’s a nice little day trip.”
“Let me see,” said Babe reflectively. “Ayr—Ayr—I ought to know about it, but I don’t.”
“Robert Burns’ country,” explained Madeline briefly. “Why, that tender is really starting. Wave your handkerchiefs to the baby’s sister, Betty. She’s almost dropping the poor infant in her efforts to make you see her.”
“I looked at the map before dinner,” announced Babe proudly. “I know just where we are, and the real name of ‘Derry’ is Londonderry.”
“I found that out too,” declared Betty. “Maps are quite interesting when you’re on one, aren’t they? I used to hate geography in school, but from now on I shall adore it, I’m sure.”
“I must go and help Marie pack,” said Babbie with a last glance at the green hills, that were turning a beautiful misty gray in the twilight.