CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PINE ISLAND
Half an hour later the merry trio wended their way again toward the lake. Eva and Adele were carrying a well-laden basket between them, while Madge carried the box of sketching materials. As they neared the boat-house, they beheld Everett, neatly clad in a dry suit of white flannels. By the side of the dock was moored a wide, comfortable-looking boat.
The youth saluted them as they neared the lake, and then sprang to take the basket from the girls. This he stowed in the stern as he exclaimed, “Oh, sister of mine, I do hope that yon wicker receptacle contains about one hundred pies and two hundred doughnuts, a dozen boiled lobsters, and—”
“You may be sure that it doesn’t,” his sister interrupted, “but, to tell you the truth, I am as ignorant of its contents as you are. Ching Ling, the kindly Chinese gentleman who presides over the kitchen at the inn, filled it for me, and as yet I haven’t peeped under the cover.”
“Oh-h!” groaned Everett in pretended dismay. “What if Chingaling gave us fried-mouse sandwiches and—”
“Everett Peterson! We’ll leave you behind if you make any more such terrible suggestions,” Madge threatened.
“Well, that’s what Chinese children eat in their native land, isn’t it?” laughed Everett. “And as for leaving me behind, I’m pretty sure that you won’t do that, as I do not believe that any of you know how to row.”
“I do, a little,” Eva replied, as Everett unfastened the boat. A few strong, swift strokes sent the craft dancing out on the sunny blue lake. Eva, with shining eyes, looked happily about her. Madge and Adele visited, while Everett, with long strokes, sent the little craft over the sparkling water, and soon the keel grated on the sandy beach of the prettiest island imaginable. It seemed dense with pine trees where they had landed, but at the other end they beheld a rocky point. They had entered a quiet little cove, and, with Everett’s assistance, the girls were soon climbing over the bow and then the boat was drawn high on the sand.
“Oh! Oh!” Eva exclaimed to Adele, as she caught her friend’s hand. “Isn’t this the prettiest place! Adele, pinch me, will you, and see if I am really myself. It doesn’t seem possible that only yesterday I was an Orphans’ Home girl. To-day I feel like—like Cleopatra, or somebody rich and luxurious.”
“Please don’t feel like Cleopatra,” laughed Madge, who had heard the last part of the sentence. “I’d much rather go a-picnicking with Dryad Fern than with that historical lady, if it’s all the same to you. Come now, let’s select our banquet-hall, for my small brother declares that he will turn cannibal and eat us if we do not soon spread the viands.”