“Will somebody kindly notice the boat-house?” said Tom, kneeling down good-naturedly.
There was a plank across the tub, wide enough to drive the little motorcar along, and at the further end stood a tiny cardboard ticket-window. Behind the little bars, made of toothpicks, stood a paper ticket-man in a blue cap. And overhead was printed:
“CANOES $1.00 AN HOUR
SAILBOATS $5.00 AN HOUR”
“Isn’t that grand?” cried Cousin Margaret. “We can afford the green sailboat as long as the Delights are millionaires.”
Tom grinned, and watched the big girl and the little girl seat the happy dolls safely in the big boat. And when it was finally untied and sailed slowly off down the lake, it looked exactly like a real boat party of sober grown-up people.
“It actually made me sort of hungry,” said Cousin Margaret at last, “to see them eat at the picnic. Let’s go down and get a gingersnap.”
Tom grinned again. “Mother said when you were through playing, to come to her upstairs piazza.”
With one accord the two girls carefully placed the picnic party safely on the wharf and skipped for the piazza. There sat Mother, in her prettiest company dress of soft white crêpe, smiling at nobody in particular, but looking at the green wicker tea-table.
“Wow!” cried Tom. “If Dumpling were here, he’d say ‘Woof!’”