Islands had always possessed for Peggy a peculiar fascination. The smaller they were the better, from her standpoint, since with the larger it was always necessary to remind one’s self that they were not a part of the mainland. On this particular island it was quite impossible to forget for a moment that you were entirely surrounded by water.
Peggy pursued her discoveries with zest. Considering its detached and lonely state, the little island had conformed surprisingly to the ways of the mainland. Peggy found flowers of the same varieties that she had picked in the woods back of the knoll a little earlier. A blackberry vine was heavily hung with fruit, though some of the berries were dry and withered. Peggy noticed a bird’s nest in a more exposed location than the little builder would have chosen elsewhere, she was sure, and she thought of the deductions Jerry would have drawn from this fact, and smiled while she sighed. Poor Jerry! She must take him in hand, and settle this absurd misunderstanding.
“Aunt Peggy,” piped Dorothy, trotting at her heels, “let’s not ’splore any longer. I don’t like ’sploring.”
“Oh, I don’t want to stop till I’ve seen everything, Dorothy. Be a good girl and don’t fret.”
But Dorothy did not feel like being a good girl. One of her rare wilful moods had taken possession of her. She stood motionless, scowling at Peggy’s unconscious back, and then her little face overcast and rebellious, she turned and made her way down to the willow and the waiting canoe. The latter moved gently as the water rippled past. It seemed to Dorothy to be tugging at its fastenings with an impatience that matched her own.
“You don’t like ’sploring either, do you?” she said, addressing the canoe in a confidential undertone. “And–and it’s very naughty of Aunt Peggy to want her own way all the time. I guess she’d be s’prised if we went off and left her.”
The canoe repeated its wordless invitation. Dorothy drew closer, cast a defiant glance behind her, and then set one small foot firmly on the bottom of the uncertain craft. The responsive lurch was so unexpected that she went over in a heap, luckily landing in the bottom of the canoe, instead of in Snake River. She sat up, feeling a little frightened, and under the necessity of excusing herself.
“There, I didn’t disobey Aunt Peggy, ’cept with one foot. I guess that old canoe pulled me in its own self.”
Her complacency vanished with a startling discovery. The canoe had been carelessly tied and the jar of her tumble had loosened it altogether. Yielding to the current it began to move down the stream, and Dorothy’s alarm found vent in an ear-splitting shriek.
“Aunt Peggy! Aunt Peggy!”