“Oh, he’ll let me. But how do you get over there, David Lindsay?” inquired the child, gazing over the expanse of water to the little dot that seemed to be about half-way between the promontory and the eastern horizon.
“Why, in my little row-boat, to be sure. There, there it is, tied to that post,” answered the boy, pointing to a little skiff that was rocking on the water.
“Oh-h-h! And you’ll take me in that? Oh-h-h! Won’t that be splendid! When will you take me, David Lindsay?” she exclaimed, with all a child’s eager delight in an anticipated holiday.
“To-morrow, if they will let you go. To-night when I go home, I will tell my grandmother, and she will have something to please you when you come, you know.”
“Will she? Oh, how nice. I am so glad I found you. Ain’t you glad you found me, David Lindsay?”
“Oh, I tell you! Yes, indeed! I was so lonesome here.”
“So was I! But we have found one another; we won’t be lonesome any more, will we? We will have such good times, won’t we now, David Lindsay?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the boy.
“But, oh, I say! See here! I can’t net any more. This hard twine hurts my fingers dreadfully,” said little Glo’, looking at her bruised digits.
“I thought it would. Put it up. It is dinnertime, too.”