“Yes, he is, you good old soul you.”
With a scream of delight Sally flung herself on his neck.
“How you started me, you roguish boy, you and John too. Why boys, where have you been? We’ve been looking more than a week, with all the eyes in our heads, and you’ve come at last, just as we had given up.”
“What boat is that at the mooring, mother?”
“One your father built the year after you went away.”
“I’m right glad, for I’ve sold mine in Portland, and was afraid I shouldn’t have any to sail in. Whose scow is that?”
“Ours; your father and Robert built it.”
“Where is father?”
“Out in the orchard, pulling up stumps.”
“Come, John, let’s go and surprise them.”